


The Story of Signí and Thorin

by Agmir



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Angry Thorin, Blue mountains, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Women, Dwarven Ring of Power, Dysfunctional Relationships, Ered Luin, Eriador, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, Forgiveness, Headcanon, Iron Hills, Life in Dunland, Life in Tharbad, Life in the Blue Mountains, Marriage, Mental Health Issues, Minor Violence, Mirkwood, PTSD, Protective Thorin, Romance, Slow Build, Swanfleet, Tharbad, Thorin's Halls, Unrequited Love, Virginity, Young Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:22:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 79,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agmir/pseuds/Agmir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**I'm sorry I'm so slow in updating this.  I promise it will be finished!  Eventually.  But it will be!  :p</p><p>Thorin wasn't always so dark and brooding...</p><p>Years after the horror of Smaug and miles away from Erebor, Signí is a young dwarrowess working in her father's shop.  As fate would have it, exiled dwarven prince Thorin finds himself living in the same village.   Alienated and lonely in the world of humans, the two former childhood friends find themselves in love and finally have a chance to be together... but something sinister is lurking in the shadows.  How far would Signí go for the love of her life?  Will they create a new life together, or will the madness in Thorin's family prove to be too much?</p><p>This is the life of Thorin Oakenshield.</p><p> </p><p>(This is a headcanon that won't leave me and fills in the years of Thorin's life between the arrival of Smaug and the quest for Erebor.  I will try to stay as true to the events in Tolkien's texts as I can while exploring what he doesn't say, though for this story the characters look like they do in the films.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Early Days

**Author's Note:**

> Note the ages mentioned are dwarven ones; to figure out the human equivalent, divide by 3.

~T.A. 2765~

Clink!

The button had gone flying and landed somewhere underneath the heavy wardrobe in the corner.

“I’ll find it!” cried Signí.

“No, it’s mine!” cried Thorin.

The two dwarflings scrambled to the far end of the room and reached their small, fat fingers to where the gold-inlayed button had rolled.

“Mine!” Thorin grabbed the button and smiled, his bright blue eyes flashing deviously at Signí before running away out into the hall.

“Thorin!” boomed a stern voice from beneath rolls of heavy, embroidered fabric. The young dwarfling prince sheepishly came back into the room and handed the button to Anvari Skyrtaverr, Signi’s father. Anvari was Thror’s favorite tailor, and he had been hired to update Thror’s whole wardrobe. Always thinking of the future, Anvari decided Signí should come to his jobs in the hopes that she would learn something and carry on the family tradition. Being a tailor was an odd position in Dwarven society; it wasn’t always as lucrative as mining and smithying, but it paid well if one grew their skill and knew how to market their work the right way.

At first, Thror had felt sorry for little Signí. Being only 15 meant it was difficult for her to spend the hours without getting bored. Her mother would send along quiet games but those weren’t enough. About two hours in, she’d push back her black braids and sigh, her little green eyes wandering around the room in interest. In such a room as this, there were too many temptations scattered around, too many fascinating objects and yet she dared not touch anything. The tapestry covered walls rose high, higher than any place she was used to. The portraits, mirrors, and objects older than she could fathom all seemed to rise higher with those walls, intimidating and ominous.

After the third fitting session, Thror decided to bring along his two grandsons. With Thorin being 19 and Frerin 14, the two dwarflings were about the same age as Signí. Knowing that Anvari was working on a particularly intricate fabric with emerald inlays, he thought the three of them could entertain each other.

They quickly became friends, though Thorin and Signí seemed to develop an especially close attachment with one another. Thorin liked her because she wasn’t afraid to play boy games like axes and arrows and she liked him because he made those tall walls instantly less menacing. They chased each other around for hours through the halls, hunting dragons and slaying orcs. Frerin however, often found himself at odds with the two of them. He was sick of always being the dragon or orc in their games. Truthfully, he was jealous of how this girl seemed to captivate his big brother. They almost seemed to have their own secret language at times, speaking in strange jargon as though they'd known each other since birth and Frerin, being Thorin's best friend in every other circumstance, found himself coming second when she was around. 

Anvari was slightly annoyed that Signí was now running around the royal chambers and not paying attention and learning, but he didn’t dare say anything as Thror made his amusement of their antics obvious through the occasional side-eye and cracked smile.

The whole project took Anvari eleven months to finish, and on the last day Signí grew sad. At already dwindling birth rates, there just weren’t that many other dwarflings her age she could play with, and her days with the Durin brothers had been filled with such fun.

“Grandfather says one day I’ll be king and I’ll pick you for my queen so we can play all day!” Thorin said to Signí, because he too was sad to say goodbye.

“But I am going to be a tailor, like my dad. Can queens be tailors too?” asked Signí.

Thror chuckled from across the room and Anvari blushed. How simple things were to dwarflings!

~Five years later~

Signí hadn’t seen much of Thorin since Anvari’s big project for Thror, but she did accompany him on several other jobs around the royal court. Both Durin brothers had become old enough for a private tutor, and they now spent their days in lessons rather than running around and playing.

One day, Signí was assisting her father in fashioning some clothes for Dís, the toddler princess. Her father was working on some delicate stitchery, so he had given her a scrap to practice her own embroidery with. Not knowing how to write any runes yet, she needled out a messy looking sun with an ax below it. As she reached for a different colored thread, she heard a voice reciting various Khuzdul words on the other side of the wall. 

“Amagur,” the voice commanded.*

She quietly crept to a spot where she could see through the crack of the door. It was Thorin! He was writing out the words the teacher was reciting. She noticed his beard had started to come in, and it reached across to his thickening sideburns. His hair had two small braids framing his face, and they hung down with metal clasps grazing the paper on which he was writing. He looked up and smiled as he recognized her.

Suddenly, Dís began to cry as her mother held her up for some measurements, and the teacher stomped to the door. As he quickly opened it wider to peer in, the fabric Signí had been practicing with blew out of her hands, and just as quickly it swept away into the other room as the teacher grunted and pulled the heavy door shut, all in one forceful motion.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall Thorin noticed the little scrap of fabric fall next to his foot. He quickly picked it up as his teacher turned his back for a moment and looked down at the sloppy sun and ax. He smiled and stuffed the material in his pocket.

***

Anvari only got to work on Dís’ little dresses for two days before the dragon came. Everything after that was a blur. Signí’s mother had just laid her younger brother Alfí down for a nap when the sky turned dusky with smoke. At first, they didn’t realize the sky darkening, as their home was one of the ones inside the mountain with only two small windows among all five rooms. Distant screams became closer as men, women and children began to pass through the hall outside their front door.

“Dragon!” Anvari shouted as he came crashing through their front door.

Signí’s mother frantically wrapped up a few precious mementos and stuffed all their pockets with gold coins. She dressed both Signí and Alfí in several layers, both for protection from the weather and to allow them to carry as much as possible. 

They scrambled out into the halls and fell in step with the fleeing mass of dwarves. Smashed between bags of belongings, a screaming baby and two weeping mothers, Signi held onto her father’s arm for dear life. She could neither see in front of her, nor behind her as the hallways darkened. The usual torches had been extinguished somehow and the fear of being separated from her family was the only thing that kept her moving.

Suddenly, an intense heat swept over their heads and the entire hall lit up in orange light as Signí gasped for air. A great, deep groan echoed through the hall and as the orange receded, the torches lit up again. Signi’s legs felt like mush and she began to have great trouble moving them. She stumbled and a burly, hairy hand behind her pulled her up and steadied her. A few more steps and her limbs began to grow colder, numb. The air felt like thick, sticky hot breath and she had to work hard to breathe in enough to fill her lungs. She heard her father’s voice somewhere far away as her legs failed her again. She tried to scream for her parents but her voice got choked up as a wave of cold, blinding whiteness passed over her.

***

Signí woke with a shudder and felt an intense cold roaring through her body. She squinted into the vast grey that lay before her and realized she was looking up at the sky. She had been placed in a basket made for human babies which was somehow propped onto the back of a pony. Little Alfí was wrapped in a dirty blanket and lay sleeping beside her and another sleeping dwarfling no older than 7 lay at the other end of the basket at her feet. She sat up and peered down to see her father and mother walking next to the pony, exhaustion and fear written all over their faces.

The days turned into weeks as they traveled, stopping at night and surviving off small animals and vegetables they could find in the hills over which they traversed. She learned the little dwarfling at her feet in the basket was named Hugo, and his parents had gone in with hers to buy the pony from a dwarf who was lucky enough escape early and had enough time to take his ponies with him.

After a while the landscape changed to a rockier ground, and they came upon a place of sounds and smells that were unlike that of which Signí was used to. This was a city of men, and they had reluctantly allowed these short-statured refugees to stay, so long as they made themselves worth something. Word came around that a troop of dwarves were going to push on further, but Signí’s mother refused to travel anymore. They found an inn to stay the night and Anvari would go out and look for work in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * bear, in khuzdul


	2. A New Life

~Nine years later~

T.A. 2779

The Skyrtaverrs carved a little space for their family in this world of men, with Anvari first working at a tailor’s shop and then opening his own little store. His work was fantastically popular as Dwarven craftsmanship is far superior when it comes to details. Anvari found a way to spin silk into something that resembled mithril, and this fabric neither tore nor stained, and was stronger and more delicate than most men in the town had ever seen. Of course, silk was rather hard to come by, but when he was able to get his hands on some, his little shop would be backed up for weeks with orders. Signí worked long hours in her father’s shop, not because he forced her to, but rather out of boredom. Human kids aged quite quickly, three times faster than dwarves in fact, and she simply couldn’t keep up. Any human friends she made outgrew their friendship, and she found herself lost and lonely among them. There were a small number of other dwarflings, but they were mostly boys and their parents sent them off to apprentice at the forge.

On a chilly autumn night, Signí lay in bed as fat raindrops pattered against the windowpane. Her father and mother were talking and she could make out small pieces of what they were saying.

“He’s a wreck… I’m not sure anything can be done,” Anvari’s voice said solemnly. “He talks of nothing but Erebor and barely recognizes anyone anymore. Thrain has to watch him constantly so he doesn’t wander off.”

“Surely the Iron Hills were better suited for them. Here they are nobody!” his wife replied. “Couldn’t Gror have taken them in?”

“You know he’d never be a beggar to his little brother!” he scoffed. “They’ll find work in the forge. But you know they’ll only get paid half as much as the men.”

It was quiet for a while and Signí tried to remember why the name Gror sounded so familiar. Was he Thror’s brother? King Thror? That’s strange that they would come here to live. Signí had heard about the Iron Hills. She had some distant cousins on her mother’s side that lived over there, but in her young life she’d never met them nor even been to the Iron Hills. She thought of Thorin and Frerin and their baby sister Dís and the dresses her father never got to finish. She thought of those halls and the golden light that radiated through them. She thought of the huge tapestries and how they scared her until Thorin played tag with her that one day, hiding behind them and jumping out at her to make her laugh. She thought of the home they had left behind: the kettle still on the fire, her cozy bed lined with the softest linens, the portraits of her grandparents, her father’s sewing machine still threaded and ready for the next stitch.

She smiled at the thought of her old friend being in this strange new world she had grown accustomed to, but then frowned. _It is no matter anyway_ , she thought. _We wouldn’t be friends at this age even if the dragon had not come._

And what if the dragon had not come? She’d still be helping her father with his work, then she’d be expected to help teach Alfí how to sew, and then her parents would expect her to find a husband. She wasn’t quite old enough to fully understand class and society, but she did know that girls don’t play with boys after a certain age, and her family was certainly not of any royal bloodline so her friendship with Thorin would have had to end at some point anyway.

***

As the years passed, the shop grew even more successful. Anvari had made a name for himself and Signí’s skill only grew more under his direction. Thror and his son Thrain had indeed come to live in the town, and while they were quite respected among the dwarves who resided alongside them, they were largely unknown to most men. Their fall in status was a difficult one to see, even if Signí in her young age couldn’t fully understand it. Thrain would occasionally come by the shop to have some clothes made, and Anvari would sometimes have a drink with him. It was strange to see this shift in dynamic but dwarves in a state of survival band together, no matter what class lines had been in a previous life.

Despite the Durins’ newfound presence in the town, Signí didn’t see or hear of Thorin at all. Presumably, he’d taken up an apprenticeship somewhere, earning a small amount of money for his family like most dwarf boys his age, but neither of their paths would be slated to cross for a while, and so she forgot about her old friend.

As was dwarven custom, she rarely ever left the house as she came of age except to go downstairs to work in the shop. She was quite popular with the customers; her cheerful smile balanced out her father’s often-gruff moods as he toiled over his many orders. Human men found her to be quite the novelty. She was pretty for a dwarf, they thought… pretty even for a human girl. Her green eyes were set against porcelain skin and black hair and her appearance was downright striking. They liked her exotic appeal, much to her father’s consternation. She wasn’t as hairy as some of the female dwarves they encountered, (though many females dressed like men and added to their facial hair so as to avoid any extra attention). She had sideburns that were neatly woven into a braid going down each side of her face, with smaller braids traveling down the surface of her hair in the back, giving the effect of curls from far away. Her features were unusually delicate for a dwarf: a nose, though prominent, was balanced out among the rest of her face with full lips that curved at the ends, lending hints of a perpetually ironic smile. Her ears were rather large and as much as she tried to style her hair to cover them, the pointy ends still stuck out. In fact, if one thought she was a human, it was her ears and short stature that gave away her true identity. 

Her father had wanted her to start wearing the traditional disguise as she came of age, but her mother, in a stroke of open-minded leniency, convinced him that Signí would have a better time fitting in and adding to the shop’s success if she were allowed to dress more like the human girls around her. Of course, that’s not to say her clothing wasn’t still on the conservative side. Still, her mother argued, the discrimination they sometimes faced was due to human ignorance, and she felt this dwarven habit of obsessive secrecy only added to that ignorance. Predictably, her father’s reaction was that this was precisely why dwarves had to keep secrets in the first place. 

The year she turned 43, she began to take in apprentices. Still being only the human equivalent of a teenager herself, she used this as a chance to earn a little extra money and she enjoyed having someone to talk to. Her human apprentices aged out quickly and learned slowly, and she found them frustrating. Occasionally a dwarven family would send their child, but only long enough to learn basic sewing skills before they sent them to the forge, as all of the ones she had taught so far were boys.

Signí grew bored in these years… the strict rules of her parents and a lack of anyone her kind near her age was incredibly isolating. She’d find herself daydreaming of going on adventures, seeing places and creatures she had only known through fairy tale and rumor. Sometimes traveling merchants or even soldiers from faraway lands came through the shop with fantastical stories of orcs and elves and talking trees and mountains that came alive! She had certainly heard of elves and orcs before, but this sleepy town of Tharbad held little in exciting creatures, save for the occasional hobbit passing through selling his wares.

These feelings of unrest only grew and she couldn’t help but wonder if something more might be out there for her.


	3. An Unlikely Friend

~T.A. 2798~

The little bell on the shop’s door rattled and Signí looked up from the needlework she had been working on. A dwarfling girl of about 38 came shyly to the counter. Her wavy, dark brown hair had a simple braid down each side of her head and her curious blue eyes had the sparkle of both young naiveté and pubescent sass.

“I’m supposed to talk to Signí,” she said.

“Ah, you’re my apprentice! Leora?”

“No, I’m Dís. That’s my mother’s name,” she replied.

“Oh- sorry about that. What a pretty name. I used to know of a Dís. My father… Dís? Daughter of Thrain?” Signí realized how dumb she just sounded for not realizing who the girl was and she blushed.

Dís smiled back.

Signí took her behind the counter and showed her around. She felt incredibly awkward at first, as the girl was very shy. Any attempt at conversation was stilted. A handful of customers came and each time Dís would saunter to the doorway of the back room and watch cautiously. The few customers who noticed the new dwarf girl would respectfully smile without saying anything, but Signí was amused at how they had probably never seen another one around town besides her, and if they did they would never have known since most females dress as men to avoid attention.

The afternoon slowed down and she showed Dís the basics of embroidery. They talked about how few other females their age were around and how humans were so strange in their ways sometimes. Dís began to relax a little and they laughed at Anvari’s grumpiness when he left the room.

The young girl told Signí all about the wanderings of the Durin family through parts of Dunland, how Thrain and Thror had argued about whether they should go to the Iron Hills and how her family had escaped from the mountain.

She was just a toddler at the time and didn’t remember anything, but Thorin and Frerin had been playing out in the hills just outside of Dale. Their tutor was sick and so they had gotten out of their lessons for the day. Their mother was fed up with dealing with rambunctious boys tearing the royal quarters apart and had sent them to play outside. Dís had been sitting in her nanny’s lap while the boys chased each other, dodging and swiping at each other’s heads with toy axes. A shadow suddenly swept over them, first blocking out the sun for a moment and then charging the mountain in a fiery rage.

Dís told the story in a very matter-of-fact way, with all the innocence of a schoolgirl reciting a history lesson, but Signí had been old enough to remember some of the terror of that day and she shuddered.

Somehow in the chaos of that day, Thrain, his wife, and King Thror reunited with the dwarflings. In the months and years that followed, the royal family wandered across Dunland with many of the other dwarves who had managed to escape, stopping in various towns and settlements just long enough to make a home and find work before Thrain’s discontent grew again. Thror’s state of mind deteriorated more and more, and a blank stare would often come over him and he would talk of the Arkenstone and other various gems and golden pieces as though they were still in his possession. He had also begun to wander off in his fits of madness, and the family had to recruit a dwarf named Nar to stay with them and look after him. Nar was also the one who had come back to inform the family of the horrible news of Thror's death, having accompanied him to Moria and witnessing it all. Dís' tone now changed as tears welled in her eyes over losing her grandfather, and the two girls changed the subject.

The hours passed quickly, and a man came into the shop right at closing time and approached the counter. As he came closer, Signí realized he wasn’t a man at all; he was a dwarf, and a very tall one at that. He was also quite handsome with glittering blue eyes and dark brown hair. His short beard gave away his younger age but it was parted into three short braids. His clothes were filthy, and his arms and hands were covered in soot. He’d clearly spent the day working. The familiarity of his face was astonishing, and he was obviously one of the Durin sons. She flushed and stupidly fumbled with the charcoal pencil in her hands, unknowingly leaving marks on her thumb. He was incredibly attractive, although she couldn’t tell if this was Frerin or Thorin and no words would come even if she tried to speak.

“Oh, that’s my brother,” Dís broke the awkward silence. “See you tomorrow!”

Signí looked away for a moment as the dwarf’s eyes burned into her, his face solemn but his eyes looking as though he’d seen a ghost. The two left and he glanced back one more time before closing the door. Signí ran behind them and locked it, a sense of relief that the day was over. Which brother was that? And why did she feel so awkward? Why did it even matter? She knew their family had come to live there so the possibility of seeing them and seeing Thorin was there. And even if she did see him, it’s not like they were still friends. She hadn’t seen him in years after all, and she figured he wouldn’t remember her anyway.

***

Several months passed and Signí grew quite fond of Dís. She came to consider her the sister she never had, and Dís began to display a real talent at sewing. The dwarf who had originally come in to pick up Dís now stayed outside when her shift was over. This was both a relief and disappointment to Signí, and she inwardly scolded herself for even having those kinds of thoughts. Having no business to conduct with her, she knew he stayed outside out of respect for her, as any dwarf would have done in pre-Smaug days, but his avoidance also gave her a sinking, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and she wasn’t quite sure why. She was certain he was Thorin, as she thought she remembered Frerin having lighter hair, but she was too afraid to ask Dís and Dís never mentioned it.

One day after the shop had closed, Signí’s parents had gone out for the night. It was a rare occasion they did so, and this day happened to be Durin’s Day. She was expected to look after her little brother on these nights, and she knew that once he was asleep she’d have a few hours to herself before they came home. Usually she worked on something for herself or snuck one of her father’s pipes and a small bit of tobacco and sat on her open windowsill if the weather was pleasant enough.

She was in a strange mood that evening. The air was filled with odd hints of the ancestral, as though old ghosts had paid the shop downstairs with the cozy little apartment above a visit and left behind only traces of distant memories. A feeling of disquietude sat within Signí and she made up her mind that staying inside the small second-floor apartment was too stifling. Perhaps it was the partying going on, for the pub was only down the street and she could hear the occasional roar of laughter and song break out, as dwarvenfolk are prone to. Or perhaps it was the late summer evening, the kind of weather where the air is soft and the sky is bright with stars; the kind of weather that is almost too perfect before the cold reality of autumn and winter set in. She snuck her father’s pipe and a thumbful of tobacco and quietly tiptoed down the back stairwell. No, sitting on her windowsill tonight just wouldn’t do… she would sit on the stairs in front of her family’s shop.

She took an enthusiastic puff off the pipe and immediately remembered why she didn’t do this very often. She always had trouble keeping herself from fully inhaling the smoke. She coughed and then giggled a little to herself at how silly she must look. She stretched her legs out and sighed. The moon’s light reflected off the small stream that ran parallel across the street. A small breeze kicked up the smell of grass from the water’s edge and carried it across the cobblestone to her nose. She would miss the smell of the grass when the weather turned. Funny, as a child she never really knew the smell of grass because she lived inside the mountain, but its earthiness reminded her of the stone walls that were now embedded in ancient memory.

Two men stumbled down the street, quite obviously having had a good time at the pub.

“Waz today dwarf day or somthinn, Brett?” the first one slurred.

“Durn’s day! Durn’s day!” the second one attempted to sing what the crowd had been singing earlier, but failed in a miserably comical way.

“Thoz dwarves…” he trailed off into something unintelligible but they had already passed and Signí was quite sure it was something slightly derogatory.

A feeling of uneasiness began to creep up on her. The refugees from Erebor had managed to adapt and make new lives for themselves, but she knew many didn’t especially like dwarves. True, no one had ever been rude to her personally, but she also never ventured far from the shop and she knew that her customers represented a bias; someone who didn’t like dwarves would never enter a shop owned and run by a dwarven family. This was a growing spot of contention among her kind- although they were technically considered equal to humans by the town’s bylaws, they were often treated as less, and toiling away just to earn a few pennies while they still had memories of their better life in Erebor burned bitter spots into their hearts.

She recalled how just eight years earlier Thror had left his family and wandered to the gates of Moria. In his old age and already declining mental stability, it was a desperate attempt to reclaim ancient grounds and rebuild the empire he had lost. Her parents wouldn’t let her know too many details because of her young age and out of respect for their former king, but it was a source of guilt and shame for all who still considered themselves Durin’s folk. Mostly, the general dwarven population now regarded Erebor and any hopes of its reclamation as fairy tale. She had sensed a growing feeling of unrest lately though, and any time her father came back from the pub late at night, she’d hear him telling her mother all about how things were going to change.

Of course, with Thror dead this meant that Thrain was now king-in-exile. The Skyrtaverrs and most of the other dwarves regarded him as their king, but mostly he and they went about their days working, drinking at the pub and taking care of their families. He was no great and powerful ruler like his father, but the small and displaced population looked to him for guidance and comfort, reminding them of their own half-lost sense of culture. As the years went on, they lived more and more as humans did out of necessity for survival, though this was a great source of dismay for the elder dwarves. The thought of their younger generations growing up without ever knowing what their real home was like broke their hearts.

She had been sitting out there a while now and it was getting late. The partying was still going on but she feared her parents might come home before she had a chance to get back upstairs. She stood up and attempted to knock the ashes out of her father’s pipe into the flowerpot outside the shop’s door.

“Wait! There is some left, yes?” a tall stranger approached her. She froze, instantly embarrassed to be caught outside, at night, smoking. Her parents would be livid!

“If you are going to just throw it away, I’ll take it,” he said.

As he came into the light reflecting down from the windows upstairs, she realized it was Dís’ brother!

“Do you not remember me?” he asked.

So it was Thorin. And he did remember her. She suddenly felt bad for not saying anything to him the first time he had come into the shop.

“Yes- I remember you,” Signí managed to choke out.

She handed him the pipe and he lit a piece of dead grass off the stone side with some flint to relight it. Signí cringed because she knew her father would notice the mark it made. He took quite a few puffs and then smiled.

“How fate has brought us together again,” his deep voice said.

Signí blushed and looked down at her feet. It had been so long, and he was basically a stranger to her now. She looked up again and smiled. 

“Indeed,” she replied. He was so tall for a dwarf, and he undoubtedly had the air of a prince. Even though he had changed so much over the years, the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled was exactly the same. She had missed her old friend. He had grown so handsome, and her breath caught a little as she gazed back into his eyes.

Another explosion of laughter emanated from the pub and Signí shifted nervously. She really ought to go upstairs before her parents find her not only out at night and smoking, but now talking to a boy. Oh, and not just a boy- Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!

“You don’t wish to talk to me?” he asked.

“No, I – my parents…” she stammered. 

Just as she said this, she heard her father’s voice down the street. She took off, leaving Thorin standing there and ran up the stairs, into her bedroom and dove in her bed.

The door unlocked as her parents entered. They talked in hushed voices and she heard her mother starting a pot of tea. So they hadn’t seen her! She breathed a sigh of relief and sat up in her bed.

She thought of Thorin standing below her window. She leaned forward and peered over the sill. He wasn’t there anymore. Surely he ought to understand that dwarf girls don’t just sit outside at night talking to boys! He had a sister, after all.

She leaned back down against her pillow, her heart racing. So it was Thorin after all, and he remembered her! So strange that he approached her then. Perhaps because no one else was around? All those times he had waited outside of the shop for his sister… why couldn’t he come in and talk to her in front of Dís? She could understand if he was hesitant to talk to her in front of her father – dwarves had a code, a form of respect, which included certain rules about their women.

She fell asleep that night with her mind racing.

***

Two days later, Signí was opening the shop as her father worked hard in the back to finish a large order. A few of the early morning customers had come in to drop off orders before their workday began. As the line reduced now to two, Signí looked up to see Thorin was next.

“How can I help you?” she asked, blushing a little.

“I need to drop something off…” he said, reaching into his pocket. He looked around, glanced at the one in line behind him and said, “Take him first. I can wait.”

This one had an order that required measurements be taken. He was on the younger side and fairly attractive, for a human. She led him to the side of the room and pulled out her tape measure. Thorin’s eyes never left her as she counted inches by arm, neck, and torso. She could hear Thorin clear his throat and shift uncomfortably by the time she got to the man’s inseam measurement.

After the man had left, Thorin was the only one left in the front of the shop. She looked at him questioningly.

“You have an order to drop off?” Signí prompted, after he said nothing.

“Aye,” he said, and pulled an object halfway out of his pocket and she realized it was her father’s pipe. “Or perhaps I don’t,” he said and shoved his hand back in.

Knowing her father was just in the back room, she quickly glanced behind her, shocked that he still had it.

“You won’t give that back to me?” she whispered harshly, face reddening.

“Perhaps I will,” he smiled deviously, leaning in close over the counter. “For a price.”

At this, he turned around and left, leaving Signí stunned and infuriated.


	4. Sneaking Out

For several weeks, she didn’t see or hear from him again. Dís still came to work her regular late afternoon shift and he still waited outside the door to walk her home at the end of the day. Signí found this maddening; she still needed that pipe back and now it seemed he was avoiding her.

As the days grew colder and darker, business began to slow. Anvari reduced the shop to winter hours and Signí often found herself unsure of what to do in her spare time. She and Dís began to spend more time together, and for the first time in her sheltered life, she had a sleepover. For a female dwarf at the human equivalent of a teenager, this was a big deal. Dwarven girls rarely had playmates their own age, and both Signí and Dís felt lucky indeed. It also meant their families had grown to trust one another, as dwarven parents never let their daughters out of their sight. Being only 9 years younger, Dís wasn’t too far from Signí’s own age, but she was the more daring of the two and she had a way of pulling Signí out of her shell. 

One late, blustery autumn afternoon, they closed up the shop and Signí’s mother came down from upstairs. She wrapped up a loaf of homemade bread and stuffed it into Signí’s bag. 

“Do you need your father to walk you girls over?” she asked, when Thorin hadn’t come yet. 

Dís shrugged and Signí could feel her mother’s palpable anxiety over her being away for the first time. _Mahal, I’ll be 47 next month…_ she thought and rolled her eyes, but only when she knew her mother wasn’t looking.

Thorin’s figure appeared down the street and grew closer. Now Signí was the nervous one, but she tried her best to hide it. 

“Ready, Dís?” he asked as he arrived, avoiding eye contact with Signí.

“Signí’s coming too,” she replied. “She’s spending the night!”

Thorin looked at Signí’s mother questioningly, to which she thanked him for walking the girls back and to send her regards (and the loaf of bread now stowed away in Signí’s bag) to his mother.

As she had feared, the whole walk to the Durin house was an awkward one for Signí. She and Dís stayed at the same pace, with Dís chattering on about some kind of clay they were going use on each other’s hair tonight while Thorin walked ahead of them, still having not even acknowledged Signí to her face. She couldn’t understand why he had gone out of his way to talk to her that night on the street and then had come into the shop a few days later only to tease her with the pipe that he still hadn’t given back. And now he was flat out ignoring her!

When they arrived, their mother greeted them and Thorin disappeared down a hallway. Dís led Signí to her room, where she pulled out an arsenal of threads and a weaving loom. While they played around with it, Signí began to hear a sweet, soft melody on the other side of the wall.

“That’s just Thorin playing his harp,” Dís explained. “He does that every day after he works.”

The tune was a sad sounding one.

“It’s really pretty,” Signí replied.

“I guess so… but I hear it every day so I think it’s annoying!” laughed Dís.

***

The dinner table was set in a simple, yet elegant manner by Mrs. Durin. Signí nervously ran her finger over her fork as it lay before her.

"What's taking Thorin so long?," Thrain asked impatiently, for he was hungry. Just then, the son in question appeared, his face darkened almost into a full scowl.

"Rough day?" Frerin asked his brother. "Ol' Moore has us doing chainlink," he explained to the rest of the table.

"Well, you're supposed to be learning, yes?" Thrain asked his sons, in a cheerfully chiding manner. He now dug into his food, waving the rest of the small family to join suit. Signí stared down at her meat. It was venison, and while it was the most common meat out in the villages across Eriador, it hadn't been common in Erebor and she had never grown to like it much.

"Aye," Frerin replied to his father. "But he always has us doing that! We have barely learned anything else!"

Thrain chortled a little, but Thorin cut in.

"They have us do it because we are faster and they can pay us less than the men," he said flatly. "In Erebor, we would have worked in gold or mithril, not iron," he added bitterly and quietly.

Thrain caught this however, but he said nothing and just looked to his wife.

"He's such a grump sometimes!" Dís whispered to Signí, though Signí felt sorry for him. She knew dwarves often weren't treated fairly here, though she had never experienced it firsthand, as she was in a way buffered from it in her father's shop.

"Remember, back in the mountain how we used to play axes and arrows?" Frerin said, attempting to lighten things up. His curly hair was much lighter than Thorin’s, and while he was similarly tall, he had a stockier build and less commanding of an appearance. In fact, by all accounts he seemed quite friendly and approachable, and in another realm Signí would have never thought of him to be a prince. He was also the only Durin child to have inherited his mother’s grey-green eyes; both Thorin and Dís had the stunning, cobalt blue eyes of their father and grandfather. He now drew a finger toward Thorin and then Signí, laughing. "You two always were making me be the orc! I hated you so much for that!"

"Aye, you were great friends," Thrain said smiling, but Thorin averted her eyes and she felt her face grow hot as she continued to pick at her dinner. It was true, with Dís still being a baby at the time, Thorin and Frerin had been her only real friends in Erebor. How different things were now! She was thoroughly convinced Thorin hated her. He seemed to resent every mention of their childhood, and this in turn created an anxiety within her she did not recognize. It was a peculiar feeling: one of irritation that he did not seem to acknowledge her, and yet any attention he might bestow upon her was something she felt the overwhelming urge to push away. She made up her mind right then and there that she loathed him.

***

Hours later, Signí and Dís were supposed to be going to bed when they heard a light knock on Dís' door. It was Frerin.

“Jaspin’s got the ponies and wagon again. Want to come?” he asked in an excited, hushed tone.

Dis’ eyes lit up and she said yes before Signí could interject. Ponies? She was terrified of those things! And no way they’d be allowed to go!

“But, won’t your parents-“ she started, but Dís covered Signí’s mouth.

“We leave after they go to bed,” she said, flashing the same devious smile she had seen before on Thorin. 

Dís blew the flame of the lantern out and they lay in the darkness, waiting for what, Signí had no idea. Dís remained quiet, and Signí was certain she had fallen asleep. This relieved her. She didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want be around ponies, and she most certainly didn’t want to be out at night caught riding around with Frerin in a wagon! She closed her eyes and the exhaustion of the day began to creep up on her. She was nearly asleep when the crank of the window being turned shot her eyes open.

“Come on!” Dís was now sitting on the sill, ready to hop outside.

Signí got up, hesitated, and Frerin’s voice called from further away. She jumped out into the crisp night air, joining her friend, and the thrill of what she had just done turned into a giddy feeling that filled her chest.

The two girls ran through the dead leaves and grass on the ground, and reached the wagon, half-stumbling over its awkward step before collapsing into its wooden floor. It was a covered one, and was much more comfortable inside than Signí would have thought. It was rather small, (built for two or three humans) but quite tolerable for four or five dwarves. Frerin’s friend Jaspin gave the ponies their signal, and the wagon lurched forward. Signí wasn’t prepared for the sudden jolt and she fell to the side and nearly out of the wagon, but a strong arm held her back by her waist before politely pulling away. 

The darkness made it difficult to see if anyone else might be in the wagon. Dís sat next to her, occasionally gripping her arm when the ride got rough, and Frerin was one of the figures sitting behind them, that she knew. As she squinted behind her, a blazing light lit up the interior of the wagon for a moment. 

Thorin was lighting her father’s pipe with a match! Both annoyed that he still had it and yet relieved that he hadn’t lost it, she also realized that the arm that had kept her from falling out of the wagon must have been Thorin’s and her cheeks reddened in the dark.

“So where are you taking us, Jaspin?” Dís asked.

Jaspin shrugged, mumbled something Signí couldn’t quite catch and laughed. Dís laughed back and Signí had a feeling that this night would be a peculiar one. 

Signí later learned that Jaspin worked in the nearby town of Swanfleet for a farmer who had a large number of wagons that he rented out to the townsfolk there. This farmer was known to treat his workers quite well, and he’d allow them the use of an unrented wagon for the day in exchange for an extra hour’s work. Apparently Jaspin was a good friend of the Durin brothers’ and he came to pick them up a lot for nights like this. 

This farmer that Jaspin worked for employed a large number of dwarves and humans, and even some hobbits that had strayed from the Shire up north. His property was huge, and several barns and cottages stood off to the side of the vast fields. These buildings housed many of the workers, and the workers frequently threw parties.

Signí turned to Thorin, who leaned back away from her and against the wagon’s wall as he puffed away on the pipe, his face only visible in the dim glow of the tobacco embers.

“Do you plan on sharing my father's pipe with me?” she whispered to him coyly.

At this, he smirked in the darkness and handed it to her. She took a small puff and handed it back; the tobacco he used was harsher than she was used to, but its sting matched the excitement she felt at finally being out for once, not at home and not working. She turned back to look out of the wagon, and up at the sky. The clouds that had been covering the moon were now thinning out and she could see the vast, hilly landscape. They were now on a dirt road that ran alongside a fast-moving river, and she wondered if it was the same river than ran through back home in Tharbad.

The moon was now completely out of the clouds, and its fullness cast an otherworldly glow upon their surroundings. Dís’ figure leaned forward as she took in the view of the sparkling river. A small opening in the wagon’s ceiling that Signí hadn’t noticed before now cast a small amount of moonlight into the cabin and Frerin appeared to doze in the corner. She looked behind her and Thorin was only half-visible, seated mostly in shadow. Her heart thumped as she faced forward again. Here she was, and there he was, right behind her. She quietly reminded herself that she had decided she'd hated him, but this only made her heart pound more in anticipation of what he might do or say next. He was so close in the small wagon space that she swore she could feel the steady heat of his body coming off of him like the furnace of the forge. The thrill of knowing he was right there, just within reach and yet they dare not touch each other made her shiver.

As they continued on, the landscape turned from dirt and grass into wet marsh. It seemed as though the river might be slowly attempting to swallow them whole, save for the road they traveled on. In fact, it was increasingly more difficult to tell the difference between land and water as they went along. A light loomed in the distance, and as they grew closer she realized they were approaching a barn with what must be a party going on inside.

The wagon came to an abrupt halt, and Signí was thrust forward, only this time her feet resting squarely against the wooden frame just in front of her stopped her from falling out. She felt the small ping of one of the metal clasps of Thorin’s braids hit her on the back of her head. Frerin woke with a start as Dís grabbed his arm to keep from falling out herself.

Light, music and smells of food and drink filled Signí’s senses as the five of them entered the barn through a side door. This was predominantly a dwarven party, but there were some men too. Signí pulled her collar up, fearful that someone may recognize her and word would somehow get back to her parents, but to her relief every face she encountered was a strange one. She realized that her companions had clearly been there before, because Frerin and Thorin had gone off with Jaspin to talk to a group seated to the side of the barn.

“I want you to meet someone, Signí,” Dís said as she led her by arm to a dwarf standing in line at the giant keg of beer. “This is Bremir,” she said proudly.

Bremir bowed. He was perhaps only a couple of years younger than Signí, and he had an abundance of thick, blond hair. His beard and mustache were quite impressive for his age, with braids covering nearly his whole head and a braid on each side of his mustache. The most charming part of this affable dwarf was the dimple that appeared on each cheek every time he smiled, which was often.

Signí was quite surprised to see Dís now holding his hand. Clearly they knew each other well, as dwarves generally don’t stand around holding hands of the opposite sex unless they are in some way committed to each other. She wondered if Frerin and Thorin knew of this. Had they given their blessing? Why had she not mentioned a boyfriend before? Did her parents know about Bremir? _No matter,_ she thought to herself. She quite liked him and she was too entranced by the dancing and singing going on in the center of the large room to think about the awkward logistics of relationships… something she had no experience in and which, quite frankly, terrified her.

A long, winding chain of dwarves now formed a dance as the band of instrument players started up a new song. She watched as their feet stepped in rhythm and the urge to join them overtook her. She nearly ran off but Dís thrust a large, cold pint in her hands and the two girls followed Bremir to the table where Thorin and Frerin had already seated themselves with two more dwarves. Thorin smirked slightly when he saw Signí and her pint, and she self-consciously sat at the end of the bench next to Dís. Bremir and Frerin got into a conversation and Dís turned and pointed out their friends, introducing them one by one to Signí. Next to Frerin was Aust, next to him was Hjordis, and then sat Thorin, who was also across from Signí. Aust was a dwarf about Thorin’s age with wiry red hair and a single braid that stretched from one side of his head, incorporated into his beard, and then extended to the other side. His eyes were so dark that they appeared almost black, but exuded a brightness that reminded Signí of smoldering cinders left on a fire. Hjordis was a female dwarf just a bit older than they were, to which Signí estimated her age to be about 65 or 66. She too had red hair, but it was braided back neatly. She had a small beard just at the end of her chin, also braided, and it hung in the daintiest manner. She was dressed more like a human than a dwarf, in clothes that weren’t as modest as Signí was used to. Being a seamstress, she could tell her dress had been made very well and she wondered if Hjordis might be fairly well off. Hjordis was Aust’s older sister, and they weren’t Longbeards like Durinsfolk; their family was part of the Firebeard clan.

As the conversation between Frerin and Bremir took over the rest of the table, Signí stayed quiet. They were talking about other dwarves she didn’t know and past parties she had never been to. Thorin was playing his game of ignoring her again, and Hjordis now seemed to lean into him in such a way that Signí questioned just how well they knew each other.

She felt incredibly left out. Here she was, miles from home and having no idea where she was, and there was no way for her to leave if she wanted to. 

“Ubzûnabi khi,” she muttered to herself in a vexed manner as she turned to look out at the rest of the vast room. **

She guzzled the rest of her pint down fast and wandered off to where the dancing was. The song had changed a few times by now, but the chain of dwarves had grown, all bound together by fat fingers and pulling each other two steps to the right, one step to the left and on and on to the beat of the music so that the whole line slowly snaked around between tables, haystacks and wooden columns. The nearby dwarves who weren’t dancing were drinking and singing boisterously, seemingly fueling the dancers’ feet through sheer enthusiasm and alcohol. Signí had only danced like this as a child, and while the memories were fuzzy, she politely cut between the nearest dwarves in the line and fell right into step. It was second nature to her.

That same giddy feeling she had felt earlier now came back again as the line of dancers carried her through one, two, three more songs. She was also starting to feel that beer now, and she feared she might trip the dwarf next to her if she didn’t watch how he feet were moving. Just when she thought she had better go sit down again, she looked up to see that they had come near her table. Thorin was looking right at her, an amused smile on his face. Hjordis appeared to be chattering on, oblivious now to Thorin, though her elbow appeared to be resting in even closer to him. The tips of Signí’s ears burned. _He has no business watching me dance if he has a girlfriend,_ she thought bitterly. She looked away and as the line snaked further around, the song ended and she made her exit.

The cool night air felt refreshing as she sat outside to recover. All that dancing with a belly full of beer was threatening to come back up if she didn’t sit down. Of course, she also didn’t want to admit how jealous it made her to see Thorin with a girlfriend, and perhaps that was the real reason she was feeling queasy. She hoped Dís wasn’t looking for her and she certainly didn’t want her friend to see her like this. Dís had no idea of anything between her and Thorin, very little of their childhood friendship and much less the pipe incident or the way he teased Signí when no one was looking… in fact, by all accounts no one knew anything was anything at all between them. But why had he looked at her like that when she was dancing?

“There you are,” a voice said from behind her.

Thorin sat down next to her and looked off into the darkness. Her cheeks burned at his sudden appearance.

“You hid yourself so well I thought you might have gone home,” he said softly, amused.

“Where is Dís?” she asked flatly, ignoring the fact that he was now acting amiable towards her again.

“She is dancing with Bremir and wants you to come too,” he replied. “Would you like to come back?”

“No,” she said, still flatly.

They sat in silence for a little while and Signí wondered why he was still there. Surely Hjordis would be looking for him, right?

“Why don’t you dance with your girlfriend?” she asked, her cheeks burning redder still.

“My girlfriend?” he said. “I do not have a girlfriend.”

She turned to him and cocked an eyebrow.

“Who, Hjordis? My loyalties do not lie with Hjordis,” he continued with a smirk.

Signí remained silent and stared down at the dried grass and mud next to her foot.

“I came here because my loyalties lie with you,” Thorin said softly, now in a more serious tone.

“You mean your loyalties in secret? You only speak to me when no one else is around,” she said angrily.

“I was respecting your boundaries,“ he shot back. He now seemed to search for words. "I- I did not know how to talk to you."

He did have a point. Dwarven ethics forbid any kind of disrespect toward a female, especially a younger one like her still under the protection of her father. If Thorin were to have initiated any kind of conversation with her in front of her parents, that would have been way too forward of him and in very bad form. In fact, the only circumstances in which they had really talked were forbidden ones, and any hints of them in front of either of their parents certainly would have raised some eyebrows.

“I have never forgotten you,” he continued, facing her. “I did not believe when I heard that you were also living in Tharbad. I thought it was too good to be true, after all that had happened.”

Signí couldn’t believe what she was hearing. All this time she had tried to push any feeling or affection for him out of her head, and now here he was saying this. She took his hand and pulled it close to her heart.

“I’ve always remembered you too,” she replied.

Impulsively, she leaned in and kissed him. His surprise turned to passion and he kissed her more deeply in return, drawing a hand to cup the side of her face and trailing his lips down the side of her neck.

She’d never felt like this before! The heat off his body intoxicated her as they sat close in the cool air. His scent: hints of the sooty, burning metallic of the forge combined with the leather of his overcoat and beer on his breath wasn’t altogether unpleasant. He drew a strong arm around her and she fell into him, head on his shoulder. She wished she could stay there forever and never leave. 

They sat quietly there in the cold, crisp air for a long time. Signí realized that she now faced a point of no return: these were affections a dwarrowess does not give lightly. To now acknowledge every feeling she had denied before meant acknowledging Thorin was her âzyungâl, her love, what humans consider a soulmate. For dwarves, this is a particularly vexing thing, because there is no going back once it is acknowledged. If a dwarf is rejected after he or she declares their love, they take an unofficial vow of celibacy in their stubborn, forlorn and forsaken state in perhaps one of the most loyal acts of all: they’d rather be alone than be with anyone who wasn’t their âzyungâl. 

For Signí, her young age meant her parents would never take her seriously if she were to tell them. It also meant she had no control over seeing Thorin, and by the time she was an adult he might not even live anywhere near her anymore, especially during these uncertain times. He was also a prince-in-exile, the next in the line of Durin and the last thing she wanted was to somehow mess anything up for him. Surely he’d be expected to somehow continue the line, which meant eventually finding a wife. 

Despite all this, a wave of relief ran through Signí as she sat in Thorin’s arms, fully aware of what this all meant. The silence felt sacred as she leaned into him, nuzzling the side of his beard while her breath exited her nose and mixed with Thorin’s in the chilly air.

The rest of the night was a blur for Signí. She didn’t drink any more of the beer, though the time outside and eventually going back inside to dance with Thorin was intoxicating enough for her. Oddly, Dís didn’t seem all that surprised to see Signí now dancing with her brother, and where she thought Hjordis was uncomfortably familiar with Thorin, it was obvious that that was only a case of dwarven jealousy on her part.

The ride back home seemed much faster than the ride into Swanfleet. Having had quite a bit to drink, Dís and Frerin dozed in their respective corners of the wagon. Jaspin sat in silence, driving the ponies on and sipping a canteen of coffee. Where Thorin and Signí had made every effort to avoid touching each other before, she now leaned back into his arms in the darkness. They both fought sleep so as to stay awake for each other.

“I don’t know when I will see you next,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his hands upon hers.

She said nothing, though she knew he was right. Sure, she’d see him as he picked up Dís from the shop, but that wasn’t the same. This evening felt like such a dream, and Signí feared she might wake at any moment to the harsh reality of her situation back at home to discover it had all never really happened.

“Promise you won’t forget me?” she asked softly.

“I never have,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** "Screw this" in Khuzdul  
> (literally, "crush this")


	5. Loyalty

One particularly icy evening, the shop hit a strangely busy patch for the season and Anvari was running behind on a few orders that needed to be done by the next day.

“Take these to Master Beardon at the inn, Signí, down on Clover Street. Come back right away and be very careful,” her father had told her. He had never let her go off alone before, so she jumped at the chance.

The inn must be very full tonight, she thought. Master Beardon usually comes in right before the shop closes and before his day as his bartending shift begins. It was some sort of human holiday that day, but she couldn’t remember the name of it.

She hadn’t been to the inn very much, since it was on the other end of the town, but it was one of the only other bars in the whole area and it was often quite busy at night. It was also closest to the forge, and many a worker and apprentice would stop in there for a drink or supper before going home for the night.

The cobblestone road was very slippery, but her heavy boots steadied her as she made the long, arduous trudge eleven blocks away. The wind blew harshly and freezing rain was turning into icy snowflakes. She wrapped her thick fur cape tighter around her shoulders.

She almost passed the inn up entirely because she was so focused on not losing her balance and slipping. She pushed open the heavy wooden door, and a blast of warm, alcohol-smelling air accosted her.

She stood on the top stair just inside the door and scoped the place out. Master Bearden looked swamped behind the bar. His wife and son were busily pouring drinks and they could barely keep up. Signí weaved her way through the crowds, between dwarf and man alike, grateful for her heavy outer layers serving as a barrier.

It took some time for her to get his attention when she finally reached the counter. When he noticed her, he motioned for her to come behind the bar while she waited. She sat on a stool and glanced around at the sea of drinkers. Most of them were workers from the forge, clutching pints with dirty fingers and laughing the day’s stress away. There were women scattered among them, mostly human but some dwarven. Some were dressed as normal, and some were dressed as men, she could tell. 

It was excruciatingly hot in there with her cape on, so she loosened it a bit and eventually took it off altogether along with her scarf and mittens as she waited. She didn’t care that wasn’t under a disguise- most of the town knew who she was from working in the shop anyway.

She saw a group playing a game of dice in the far corner. One of them, a sandy blond dwarf, turned his head and she recognized him as Bremir! Next to him sat Frerin, and beside him a dwarf she did not know, and his sooty fingers scattered three dice across the table, landing in front of Thorin. Thorin! He was leaning against the wall behind him, slumped lazily in his seat with a sardonic smile as he had just been obviously beat at the game. Next to him, or rather on him, was a human girl with an arm wrapped around his neck. She laughed and ran her fingers through his hair, as her cleavage peeked out from the top of her form-fitting dress.

Signí seethed as she realized what she was staring at. How could he? At this point, Thorin glanced up but didn’t seem to see her at first. As his eyes finally met hers, his expression changed to that of horror and he tried to get up, pulling the girl’s arms away from him. 

“Signí? Signí?” It was Master Bearden. “Ev’rything alright?”

Her face red hot, she turned to him, handed him his package and politely smiled as he gave her payment and said goodbye.

Her feet felt like bags of sand as she made her way back through the crowd. Part of her in all her fiery, dwarven rage wanted to find Thorin, but she knew better and forced herself to leave. She scolded herself for taking her layers off, as now she would have to spend more time in that disdainful place putting them back on.

Finally wrapped up to face the cold again, she pulled open the heavy door. A strong hand suddenly landed on her shoulder and pulled her back. She turned to see Thorin.

“Leave me alone,” she spit out before charging through the door.

Outside, the wind was blowing harder than ever and she nearly lost her footing on the icy walkway as she angrily stomped away. The snowfall was now so heavy that she could hardly see more than five feet in front of her, and any lanterns in the street had now been blown out from the wind, making it even more difficult to discern what direction she was heading in or even if she was still in the street at all.

“Signí, please!” she heard Thorin’s voice behind her. Strong arms surrounded her, slowing her pace and she fought them off.

“I said to leave me alone,” she continued on through gritted teeth, refusing to look at him.

“You are overreacting!” he yelled through the wind, as he slowed his pace. “Do you doubt my loyalty to you?”

Signí stopped and turned around to face him.

“There was never any loyalty to me,” she said bitterly. 

He looked as though she had slapped him across the face. She turned away from him again and continued on.

She couldn’t believe what he had just done! And a human girl? 

Romance is a funny thing with dwarves: their love is one that often borders on obsession and is filled with jealousy, and yet that jealousy is a product of what is considered the highest act of loyalty. For Signí, this was the most painful part: she had already chosen Thorin as her one, something she had been in denial of until the night in Swanfleet. If Thorin’s loyalties were to lie with someone else, she would remain alone until the end of her days. The thought of remaining alone wasn’t so bad to her; it was the thought of remaining without Thorin.

She brooded as she trudged through the snow, her anger keeping her feet going. Was she really overreacting?

“Mahal! You’re going to get us lost!” an out-of-breath Thorin said as he caught up to her again.

She turned to face him, the snow falling so hard and heavy that it collected in thick clumps in the short amount of time they stood not moving.

“She was just a bar-maid,” he said, with both stubborn pride and remorse conflicting in his tone. “That’s what humans do. We were all just playing a game.”

“No, that’s not what humans do!” Signí said angrily. She dealt with humans every day and they were perfectly respectable. “And that’s not what Longbeards do either.”

Her words cut like a knife, and Thorin’s eyes flashed an angry glare. By saying this, Signí was implying that Thorin was acting like a petty dwarf, like someone who had the audacity to reveal their Khuzdul name, someone who wasn’t of Durinsfolk, and most insultingly of all, someone who didn’t know loyalty to their kin.

In their arguing and inability to see through the heavy snowfall coming down, they strayed far off to a part of the river that ran along the city’s outskirts.

The snowy cobblestone path gave way to a slippery wooden boardwalk, and before she could catch herself Signí slipped and slid across the ice, smashing into the half-broken wooden rail that barely held the whole thing together.

In her haste to get back up again, she reached up to pull on the weakened wood. Meanwhile, Thorin had been treading carefully down the same path in an attempt to both rescue her and not fall down himself.

As Signí pulled up on the piece of wood, the whole structure groaned and collapsed onto itself, plunging them both downward.

Anticipating a crash into the cold water below, their bodies painfully met the ice of the frozen river as wooden pieces continued to rain down on them.

They sat in silence for a moment, realizing what had happened and then laughed at how ridiculous the whole thing was when they saw that they were all right. 

“We haven’t seen each other alone since Swanfleet,” he said softly to her. “We shouldn’t waste this time in argument.”

Still a bit miffed from earlier, Signí realized he was right. He obviously did care about her if he had left his friends behind and followed her out this far.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly as he leaned in to kiss her, his lips soft while his scratchy beard lightly grazed her chin.

“I should be getting back home,” she said aloud as it suddenly registered to her that she must have been gone now for a while and her parents were probably getting worried.

As Thorin helped her up, they heard a faint growl nearby but couldn’t see through the snow. Panic washed through them both as they ducked under the remaining piece of dock, unsure of what to do next.

“Burzum-khozdayin zadukatul,” came a venomous voice from above them.*

“An orc!” Thorin whispered to Signí, as he drew a protective arm around her.

A wave of dread washed over Signí. Orcs? What were orcs doing in Tharbad? She had heard horror stories and knew there was a war going on near Mount Gundabad, but never had she seen any in person.

The creature jumped down onto the ice, cornering them both under the dock. It leaned in close and said something else in black speech, its breath putrid, its eyes a sickening yellow color. Scars had disfigured half of its face and teeth stuck through a hole in the skin of one of its cheeks.

Signí lurched at the sight of it while Thorin stared squarely into its face, refusing to back down. The orc pulled out a sword and lashed at Thorin, who then ducked and pushed Signí out onto the ice in one motion, yelling at her to run.

The orc was clumsy on the ice, but so was Thorin, and all he could do was duck and dodge the orc’s advances, having nothing to fight it off with. Signí made her way to the top of the broken dock, searching for something to either throw down to Thorin or at the orc. A boat had been tied up and now sat stationary in the frozen water, and Signí jumped into it, searching for something, anything.

A hammer and a large fishing hook were all she could find. Disappointed, they were better than nothing and she ran back to the top of the dock and looked down. Thorin and the orc were now further underneath, and the orc had him cornered again.

She let out a scream and jumped down, landing squarely on the orc’s shoulders, and stabbing it in the eye with the fishhook. She gagged as she held onto its putrid-smelling flesh, kicking it hard in the ribs. She tossed the hammer to Thorin who swung at the creature’s knees while it staggered, half blinded. Its strong hands found her and threw her small frame down, and she slid across the ice once more.

Her body in searing pain, she struggled to get up again as it now had managed to grab Thorin by the throat, holding him up in the air. Seeing this, rage filled her to the core and she grabbed a splintered piece of wood from the broken dock and impaled the creature’s side. Her thrust wasn’t as strong as she had hoped, but it was enough to stun the vile creature into letting go of Thorin, who fell to the ice in a hard thud, having been choked unconscious. Signí now had to fend off the orc and somehow keep it from harming Thorin.

Somehow in the howling wind, the commotion drew men and dwarves alike from a nearby bar that sat on the river’s edge. Signí had never been to this bar, but she knew it had a reputation for being a bit seedy. She screamed louder, hoping someone would come and help them.

At first, voices cheered on the fight, thinking the brawling figures were just a couple of drunks, but Signí now cried for help. Hearing a girl’s voice scream “orc!” sobered them quickly and they now charged onto the ice, some with daggers in hand and some breaking their pint glasses to use as weapons.

As the men ganged up on the orc, another one helped Signí carry Thorin into the warm building.

It took a couple of hours for Thorin to come to, but by that point word had reached all over Tharbad about the orc. Everyone was shaken up. Some of the humans blamed the dwarves for their ongoing war in attracting it, and some dwarves and humans alike blamed the city officials for not having a strong enough patrol on the river.

For Signí, the damage was already done. Her parents questioned why she had been alone with Thorin and had not come home right away, her father regretted sending her to the inn and some of the dwarves most staunchly loyal to King Thrain questioned who this girl was that put their prince in danger. 

Having now seen his daughter involved with Thorin, Anvari forbid any kind of relationship between the two. He feared that this snafu would hurt his business and anything further between the two young dwarves would surely attract the wrong kind of attention, he felt. Furthermore, Anvari and Thrain had once been regular drinking buddies but all this talk of dwarf uprising had slowly driven a wedge between them. Anvari had hit a veritable jackpot with his business; no other tailor in Tharbad had equaled his level of skill and this wasn’t something he was ready to give up. 

Though he didn’t say this to Thrain’s face directly, any ideas of moving elsewhere and reestablishing Khazad-dum meant he’d lose it all with no guarantee that he would make as much money as he did now. This was ultimately a question of loyalty, and although Anvari could not admit it quite yet, this whole mess with the orc was the perfect excuse to distance his family from the Durins. Besides, he had grown a bit suspicious of just how Thorin and Signí could have been spending time together, and he was certain Thrain had dropped the ball somewhere when it came to keeping tabs on his kids.

The two dwarf fathers mutually agreed that Dís would no longer be apprenticing in the shop, for it was now too dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "In the darkness, destroy the dwarves" in Black Speech


	6. Dark Days

~T.A. 2799~

The days at the shop were considerably longer without Dís keeping her company, and so Signí greatly looked forward to her midday break. She had taken to going for walks, and she had a regular path in where she ate her sandwich as she walked along the river’s edge, sat near the area the geese often flocked, bought a hot tea from the café near that, and then circled back to the shop, passing the pub along the way. Anvari didn’t like her wandering about at first, especially in the aftermath of the orc, but her increasing age and his guilt at his daughter’s obvious unhappiness from no longer being able to work with Dís kept him from saying much.

On this particular day, Signí had come back a little early and entered through the shop’s back door. Anvari was measuring a customer and her mother was at the counter, filling in for her. The curtain was drawn to the rest of the shop, but the little measuring area was partially visible to the back room where the accounting was kept. Still having a few minutes left of her break, Signí sat on the floor in this room and leaned back against the wall.

At first she wasn’t really looking at anything in particular, but her eyes fell on a heavy, outstretched arm being measured. By the fingers, she could tell he was a dwarf. The figure dropped his arm and turned, revealing that he was clad in nothing but a pair of shorts. A trail of hair ran down between the muscles on his taut stomach. Signí realized that she ought to look away but she had never seen a sight like this before, and it attracted her in ways she was only beginning to understand.

As he bent down to pull on pants, Thorin’s blue eyes met hers. Shocked, she stared back at him for a moment before quickly getting up and pretending to busy herself with paperwork. Embarrassment engulfed her. She had been anxious to see him again, but certainly didn’t expect it to turn out like this. In her mortified state, she almost didn’t hear her mother’s voice over the pulse of blood rushing through her neck and up to her ears in loud wooshes.

“Signí?” her mother chirped into the back room. “There’s a line and your break is up, my dear.”

She winced a little and stepped to the counter. Thorin was next.

“Can I- can I help you?” she weakly asked. Though the incident with the orc had happened months before at this point, she wondered why her parents now didn't seem to mind that she was talking to him.

He gave her a knowing smirk and handed her papers of the measurements her father had taken. She looked down at them and realized he was having lamellar armor made. 

_Strange,_ she thought. Lamellar wasn’t a common order and it required materials they’d have to ship in from Bree. This was also an order that someone either preparing for battle or entering combat training would have. She knew warring had been going on out west, but surely Thorin was still too young to be going there, right?

_Right?_ She looked into his eyes as she thought this.

“This will probably take about two weeks to finish,” she informed him, trying to hide the worry in her voice.

“Aye,” he said simply, the smirk disappearing from his face as he watched her fill in the rest of the information.

When she finished, she looked up at him questioningly. She wanted to ask him what this was all about, but her father was watching now and there was a line of customers still waiting. A feeling of anxiety came over Signí as she watched Thorin leave and it stayed with her for days afterward.

***

“Shh! Watch your step!” Dís whispered harshly as Signí’s foot landed on a creaky floorboard.

It was past midnight and the two friends had snuck out to see what this big meeting was all about. Hushed plans had been swirling among the dwarves of the village all week. The pub was closing an hour early, but the owner would not say why. Rumors among men had all kinds of crazy stories about this strange dwarf business, as dwarves are so inclined to secrecy about their affairs.

Dís hadn’t said much to Signí, other than alluding to its importance. She simply had thrown a rock at her bedroom window and convinced her to sneak out for the night, and now they were inside the lofted storage space above the pub and looking down at the dwarves assembled below them.

Thrain was facing the small crowd and talking in a hushed, serious manner. Anvari sat near the middle, his usual grumpy face twisted with unease. Several of the dwarves would occasionally nod in agreement and erupt into chatter among themselves before quieting again. Frerin picked at the skin on his thumb while staring anxiously ahead at nothing in particular. Two seats away sat Thorin, near the front with his face solemn. Next to him was a young dwarf just about as tall as him with a Mohawk and many tattoos. He looked like a warrior, and Signí had never seen him before. Seeming to sense her friend’s curiosity, Dís commented that the stranger was Dwalin, a cousin who had grown up in a nearby town and had had extensive combat training.

As they listened on to Thrain, Signí realized that many of the strangers must have come from afar, for they were preparing for war! No way could their small number here in Tharbad prepare for war alone; Thrain must have been communicating with the other tribes for a while and planning this since news of Thror’s death. She wondered how much her own father had known about all of this. He never told her anything.

So they were headed to Moria! The name of Moria carried so many feelings of anxiety for Signí: not only was it connected to Thror’s death, but it loomed as a symbol of her race’s ancestral home, stolen from her forefathers and now filled with evil creatures like orcs and the fearsome Durin’s Bane. And now this ongoing war had finally hit home for her. War! The thought terrified her. She’d never seen war before, and what she had seen from the destruction of Erebor, she did not like it. Did this mean her father would be leaving? What about Thorin and Frerin? Surely they would have to stay home, for they hadn’t even reached adulthood yet, she reasoned.

Dís sighed heavily.

“I feared this day would come, Signí,” she whispered. “Father talks of avenging Grandfather day and night. He says living here is an insult to our people.”

Signí was speechless. She looked back down at Thorin. He now had a brooding look on his face, but his shoulders remained tall and proud. She had a sinking feeling he would be going too.

***

The Battle of Azanulbizar was a bloody one, Signí had heard. Her father had been gone and come back home in two months’ time, having been wounded by an orc attack early on, before the actual battle had even begun. He spent his time recovering the way he knew best: toiling away in the shop for many hours. Signí’s mother would send Alfí down with dinner and the request that he come back upstairs, to which Anvari replied, “a dwarf heals by perfecting his craft.”

In the weeks following her father’s return, Signí heard of a few others who had come back wounded, but their promise of recovery gave her hope that all would be well.

One sunny, winter afternoon, almost too bright for comfort, a few human customers had come in talking of Thrain. The war had ended, but news was that the dwarves had paid dearly. Their stories conflicted, but one thing was clear: something tragic had happened. She glanced at her father. He gave her a knowing look, and before he could change his mind, she was running out the door.

Thoughts of Thorin invaded her mind: the way he smiled at her, the evening they had spent in Swanfleet, his promise to her and then that night at the inn… it was all too much to bear! Perhaps the most unfair part of it all was that not only had they had barely gotten to spend any time together, but they’d been on such bad terms when he left because of that stupid orc. She never did get a chance to see him after the orc fiasco except for that awkward time in the shop. If he was gone now, how could she ever forgive herself?

The white, snowy landscape reflecting the full sun above seared its image into her eyes and it took her a moment to adjust to the shade in the doorway of the Durins’ home. She drew a nervous breath and knocked on the door.

It seemed like forever before it opened, and it was their mother who answered with tears in her eyes.

“Dís is in her room. She’ll be glad you came,” she smiled, though the rest of her face told Signí that something was very, very wrong.

Signí slowly made her way to Dís’ bedroom. Dwalin and another cousin, Balin, were sitting near the windows with two more dwarves who looked as though they had traveled many miles without stopping.

Signí began to feel sick to her stomach as she realized Frerin and Thorin were noticeably absent. She suddenly regretted coming and felt as though she might be intruding, but it was too late to turn back now.

Dís was sitting by her window in silence. Signí sat near her and looked down at her feet, and Dís didn’t seem to notice her at first. The once-happy memory of sneaking out this very window and running across the field to the wagon that night now stood in stark contrast to the sickening reality of the present.

“At least he died with honor,” Dís finally said after a while, sniffling. “He wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.”

Signí’s heart raced.

“Thank you for coming,” she continued, now turning to face Signí. “We may have won the war, but for what price?”

***

That day and in the days that followed, Signí learned that Frerin’s death was only one of many. Their dead “were beyond the count of grief,” she had heard. Having been severely wounded, Thrain was now home recovering.

News about Thorin spread quickly. “Oakenshield,” they called him. So young to be in battle, and so valiantly he had fought. His shield had broken and he used nothing but the dismembered branch of an oak tree. He had been injured too, but he was now home with his father and soon they would be making plans to move and start a new life for Durinsfolk. Thrain had sustained a severe leg injury and lost an eye, but he was alive and still their king. The Blue Mountains was rumored to be their new home, and the now diminished but determined dwarven population began to pack their things and wait for what was next.

Anvari, on the other hand, now fully resolved to stay in Tharbad and was quite vocal about it. His business was too valuable to just pack up and leave again. Of course, this meant Signí would be staying too, and the thought made her sick. Being only 48, she had a good ten years at least before she reached what dwarves would consider adulthood. Even though it wasn’t that long at all from a dwarf’s perspective, the thought of being away from Thorin a decade or even possibly forever broke her heart.

She resolved to see him one last time, even if it meant sneaking out. She’d also miss Dís dearly, and she wasn’t even sure she’d get to see her either! Anvari’s stubbornness in staying had angered Thrain, and she now realized her family was among the very small minority of dwarves in the town who suddenly found themselves on the other side of a dividing line: the side of disloyalty. There was no way she could just show up at the Durin house now… surely her father’s actions had worn out any welcome she once had there.

And so Signí bided her time, waiting for her chance…


	7. Farewell

~ T.A. 2800 ~

It had been two months since the homecoming of Thorin and Thrain, and the human New Year had come and gone. Signí put off visiting the Durin house for probably longer than she should have, but anxiety would overtake her every time she made her mind up to do so, and so she would stay home or bury herself in work downstairs in the shop. Anvari had now fallen out of favor with Thrain, and while she had done nothing wrong and she knew Dís would never turn her away, she was still his daughter and she feared she might not be as welcome as she once was.

This particular night she remained downstairs in the shop, working ahead on orders that were due that week. Her parents had given up on summoning her upstairs for dinner or to go to bed, and she sat sewing by candlelight well past midnight.

At first, she thought maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. A shadow seemed to dart around the shop windows, as though someone were walking by. Signí finished off an embroidered sleeve and looked back up to see one of the windows was significantly darker than before. The warm air inside had made them a bit foggy and she couldn’t make out what was blocking the light from the street lamps outside.

The shadow backed away and Signí realized a figure was making its way to the back of the building.

Was she about to be robbed?

A chill ran down her spine and she slowly stood up and grabbed a wooden bolt that had once carried a roll of fabric on it, her heart racing.

The figure was now peering into the back window, but Signí couldn’t make out who or what it was. It stood for what seemed like an eternity, before backing away again. She debated whether she ought to run outside and attack it with the bolt in her hand or stay unnoticed in the darkness.

Suddenly the back door handle turned, but the lock prevented it from opening. They were trying to break in! Her heart pounded harder now.

She took a step forward, inadvertently creaking a floorboard, and the figure stopped fiddling with the door handle.

She realized the back door led directly to the small office, which contained the metal safe of money. Whoever this was had to have known where the money was if they were using this door as a point of entry. Could it be one of their regular customers? 

Or worse, what if another orc had made its way into Tharbad?

She crept closer, now avoiding the creaky floorboard and moving silently along the wall to stand beside the door. The figure now tried the door handle again, and in one quick motion, Signí flipped the lock to let it swing open and she struck the figure squarely in the face with the heavy piece of wood.

“Amadel!” a voice yelled out in Khuzdul.*

The figure fell backward clutching his face and cursing. As he pulled his hands away, Signí realized it was Thorin, now with a bloody gash down the middle of his forehead.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Were you trying to rob us?”

She let him in, half feeling bad for injuring him and half enraged at the thought of him trying to steal from her family.

“I wasn’t trying to rob you,” he sputtered. “I was hoping you might be working late. I wanted to see you one last time.”

One last time? So the day Signí had dreaded had finally come, and now it would be over before she had even had the chance to figure out what she wanted to say to him. She had put off making any kind of peace with him for so long.

She handed him a wet cloth to clean up his forehead and sat in silence. He glared at her while he wiped the blood away and then he too sat in silence for a few moments.

This was the first time she had seen him since the war had ended. The three braids that once hung from his beard were now gone. He must have cut them off in mourning for his brother. He had changed in other ways beyond his beard, she could tell, but she couldn’t quite figure out how or what was different. He seemed as though he had aged about fifty years and the look of mischief that once lived in his eyes was now replaced by a strange solemnity.

“We leave tomorrow morning,” he said somberly. “Come with us?”

“My father—“ she started.

“I know he has already said he will not join us,” he cut her off, irritation in his voice. “I am asking you – will you come?”

This was demanding quite a lot, and Signí knew how scandalous running away from home would be. And this would be essentially running away, for she hadn’t fully reached adulthood yet and she knew there was no way her parents would ever consent to something like this. People would gossip, the shop’s name would be tarnished, and everything her parents had worked for would bear a scarlet letter. Not to mention her parents needed her help and they would never forgive her for abandoning them like this.

“No,” she replied flatly. “No, I cannot.”

“You will not,” he said in a low voice.

“I cannot,” she replied, her voice stern but almost cracking now.

Thorin looked down, then stood up, eyeing her silently.

“Then spend this last night with me,” he said quietly, tenderly.

He took her hands in his and for the first time since the night in Swanfleet, Signí let her guard down. 

“Make me yours…” he whispered, his hot breath grazing the edge of her ear, “…if you’ll have me.”

He kissed her hotly behind her ear and trailed down to her sensitive throat, his beard scratching the tender skin and sending chills down her spine.

She unlaced her dress and his hands quivered slightly as he pulled it down, revealing herself to him. He sighed softly and kissed her tenderly and more deeply than before. 

Soon his shirt came off and Signí gasped at the healing scars across his body. She ran her finger gently along the most prominent one, feeling its alternating spots of smooth and rough. Still only scabbed over in some places, Thorin winced slightly not from pain but from the look of worry in her eyes.

He now kissed behind her ear again and trailed down to her collarbone, growing a bit rougher as she softly sighed in pleasure at the feel of his hot breath on her skin.

“I would rather spend one night with you than a lifetime with anyone else,” he whispered.

At this, she kissed him hotly in return, pulling his dense body even closer and now feeling the heat of his sex through his pants as he leaned into her.

As their bodies met through folds of fabric, an electric feeling spread through them both and Thorin now trailed his lips to her exposed breast.

He gazed into her eyes, asking permission to go on.

“Kurdûh zu,”** Signí whispered back, now feeling her own intense heat of desire well up from deep within her.

Hands now shaking, he drew an anxious breath and pulled her dress even lower over her hips and let it drop to the floor. Neither of them had ever done this before, but instinct seemed to take over and that electric feeling now roared like wildfire as his pants now seemed to unlace themselves.

***

They lay there for quite some time, simply listening to the rise and fall of each other’s chests. Signí closed her eyes and breathed him in, etching him in her heart and sealing it away in stone for all eternity. The comfort of his arms as they wrapped around her, strong and warm, the roughness of his beard and how it trailed to meet the soft skin of his neck, the way his eyes glittered in the soft candlelight… these moments would be too painful to remember later, but she would enjoy them now.

They heard a thump on the shop’s window and realized it must be the newspaper. It was at least four in the morning and Anvari would be up in an hour to open the shop.

They dressed in silence, and Thorin turned to her. His eyes were full of sadness.

“I am sorry,” Signí said, her eyes filling with tears.

“I am no stranger to loss,” he replied quietly, giving her a soft kiss on the lips. “Since you stay, I shall wander alone the rest of my days.”

He then turned and slipped silently out the door. Guilt consumed Signí as she watched him disappear into the night’s darkness. What had she done? Was she a coward for staying? She knew she had now taken from him any chance of finding someone else, even though it was he who had offered himself to her. He had said it himself: he was choosing to be alone for the rest of his days if she couldn’t be with him. She felt as though she would puke. Did she just mess up the line of Durin?

Finally feeling the exhaustion of the day, she collapsed into sleep upstairs and vivid dreams took over. The dragon was back, chasing her, and she was running over a vast plain covered in dead grass. She looked behind her to see the dragon gaining on her. Just as she tried to run faster, the ground suddenly opened up before her and she found herself standing at the edge of a cliff. She could jump to the other side, but she looked back at the dragon again, now closer. She glanced forward again and in her hesitation, the other cliff was now growing too far to jump across safely. The dragon’s fiery breath singed the back of her shirt and finally she leapt, catching the very edge of the opposite cliff, breaking off rock in her hand and sliding down until a branch caught her by the arm. She looked down into the vast blackness. The branch began to crack and the earth nearly swallowed her whole when she opened her eyes.

***

The sun was streaming in through the window on her face. She realized it had to be at least nine in the morning.

She sat up in bed and realized what she should have known all along. She couldn’t stay in Tharbad. If she stayed, the dragon in her dream would burn her alive. If she didn’t succeed to making it to the other cliff, the guilt of that would consume her whole being. As much as she loved her parents, she couldn’t sacrifice this much of herself to stay. If they loved her, she reasoned, surely they'd understand, right?

She had to find Thorin. 

She quickly dressed and ran out of the house, her mother’s look of surprise not even hindering her. There would be a congregation of dwarves near the inn, and a large crowd of them at that, especially since she knew so many were leaving. Even the few that weren’t leaving would be there wanting to say goodbye.

She ran down the street and through alleyways, past the spot where she had encountered the orc with Thorin, past the empty Durin home. Her heart sunk as she came closer to the inn and saw it desolate. No one was there.

She sat on the step of the building and looked up into the sky, tears rolling down her face. She had missed them, and it was all because she had been too afraid to leave.

A dwarf passing by gave her a respectful nod.

“Ah, another one who stayed!” he smiled at her, not noticing her tears at first.

“When did they leave?” she asked him.

“Oh, about an hour ago, now,” he replied. “Did you miss someone?”

Miss someone? She more than missed someone. Sensing her despair, the dwarf didn’t question her any further and she began the long, lonely walk back home.

 

As she arrived back at the shop, her father gave her an odd look but didn’t question her whereabouts.

“Thorin came by about half an hour ago and left this,” he said, handing something wrapped in paper with Signí’s name on it.

“I won’t ask why he is bringing you gifts, and I won’t ask why his face was bruised when he came in, and nor will I ask why a bloody wooden fabric bolt was sitting near the back door this morning,” Anvari said gruffly, and he left the front counter to work on something in the back room.

Signí’s face reddened, but she was grateful she didn’t have to try to explain anything. She ripped open the paper and discovered her father’s pipe wrapped in some fabric. A small note fell out.

“I have never forgotten you and I will always remember you, amrâlimê”***

As Signí rolled the pipe back up in the fabric, she noticed something peculiar. The fabric looked old and dirty, and a faded yellow sun had been very amateurly embroidered in. She flipped the rest of the small piece open to discover an axe also embroidered in, also sloppy. Stunned, she realized this was the embroidery piece she had been practicing on the last time she had seen him in the Lonely Mountain, before the dragon had come. So he had somehow kept this all these years!

Why was he giving these to her? Was this his way of now washing his hands of her? He had vowed to remain alone, but she now vowed to herself that she’d one day make it to the Blue Mountains. But did this mean he would never forgive her if she did see him again?

***

Thorin pulled the reigns of his pony back to slow her down to a trot and hesitated. Having promised his father he’d catch up later, he had gone back into the village in a last ditch attempt at finding Signí. He now felt foolish for doing so, because all he had met was Anvari’s stern countenance when he ventured into the shop.

Signí had not come after all, and that should have told him all he needed to know. Instead, here he was in his stubbornness, hanging around Tharbad while the rest of the group had at least an hour on him, and that was if he rode his pony at her top speed.

He sighed and gently signaled the equine to speed up, though not to a full gallop. He’d take his time in catching up. He needed to be alone with his thoughts for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "mother of mothers!"  
> ** "My heart is yours"  
> *** "my love"


	8. Exodus

Hours later, Thorin caught up to the rest of the company led by his father just as they were setting up camp for the night. He hitched his pony and made his way to his family, though he kept his head down as he navigated the crowd. He was in no mood for conversation.

Thrain immediately picked up on his son’s dour mood and glanced at Dís questioningly. She shrugged and now eyed Thorin critically as he seated himself near a fire. 

“Brother, is-“ she began, speaking lowly to avoid anyone else hearing.

“There is nothing to talk about, Dís,” he gruffly cut her off.

“Did you even get a chance to talk to her?” she persisted.

“There is nothing to talk about,” he said again, bitterly. He stared off into the fire, his face expressionless.

No one else besides Dís knew the reason for his delay, but Signí’s absence still loomed like the proverbial elephant in the room: felt only by Thorin and Dís and invisible to anyone else. Not that anyone would have minded Signí’s presence, of course. She would have simply blended in and no one would have likely paid much attention to her until they reached the Blue Mountains, where Thorin would have no doubt married her.

Dís wondered what could have happened to put him in such a mood. Being the eldest of the three children, he had always been the more serious one, but in many ways he was also the most sensitive. He had taken their grandfather’s death quite hard years ago, but losing Frerin had really changed him. He blamed himself for not being able to protect their brother, even though she and so many others had tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault. To the dwarves around him, these moods seemed to strike out of nowhere, but Dís knew her brother and there was always something that triggered them, even if it wasn’t obvious to anyone else.

~T.A. 2836~

“Kamma’s waiting,” Thrain popped his head into his son’s room, reminding him. Thorin knew he couldn’t stall any longer, though this meeting would inevitably be a disaster.

Following typical Dwarven fashion, Kamma had publicly declared her love for him a week ago. Seeing the opportunity for grandchildren, Thrain had arranged a yâsith-ubdukh,* putting the pressure on Thorin. As was custom, this would be where he either accepted and so began the long, arduous process of marriage preparation, or he declined. Any dwarf was well within their right to decline, but being both a prince and the last remaining son of his father, the stakes were high for Thorin.

He made his way down the hall and into the meeting parlor, his heavy footsteps silenced into dull thuds on the rock floor below them. The hallway was quite expansive, similar in style to what he had known as a kid in the Lonely Mountain, but these old, rebuilt halls had more ghosts than gold in them.

In these thirty-six years that had passed, Thorin and his father had built a stronghold of dwellings in the ruins of what once was known as Tumunzahar. As the years passed by, more and more dwarves arrived in Ered Luin, with word getting around that this would be the next incarnation of Khazad-dûm. The ancient, underground halls were a welcome change to the aboveground buildings the dwarves had inhabited in the cities of men. Those houses and apartments were drafty and made of rickety wood. Here, as they repaired and rebuilt these ancestral halls, they were in their natural habitat and without the discrimination of men looming over them. They flourished and a general sense of happiness came over them, at least for a little while. Though it was nowhere near the splendor of the Halls of Erebor, Thrain’s power grew steadily over the years and a decent economy formed as trade routes were established between the dwarves and hobbits and men in surrounding areas.

The door was ajar and he could see Kamma’s figure slumped into the sofa with the heavy brocade fabric. That sofa had been a gift from the Iron Hills; his aunt had given it to his mother as a kind of housewarming gift for the halls’ final completion. Though the family had their suspicions that it was actually an unwanted wedding gift given to Dain, his mother had graciously accepted anyway. Yes, Dain had just recently married, as young as he was. Thrain didn’t let his son forget about that.

Having met her only a few years prior, Kamma was the daughter of a prominent miner. They were among the first families to come to the Blue Mountains and she had been selected to play the harp at dinner during the two-week long celebration of the completion of the halls. Noticing her talent, Thrain had introduced her to the various other musicians living in the mountains, including Thorin, though they hadn’t paid much attention to each other at first. Thorin had been playing with a few other dwarves in a band for fun and she had showed up one evening to watch them practice. Dressed as a male, she waited until they were finished and then seated herself to Thorin’s harp and began plucking the strings. They ended up playing for a few hours in a bizarre kind of harp jam session before she pulled her hood down to reveal her identity, which both amused and intrigued him. He appreciated her gutsy move and thought maybe in another world he could actually love her, but this was territory he wasn’t willing to tread. Kamma on the other hand, was treading hard and she began showing up to their band practices and coming to Thrain’s courtly dinners with her father. 

Thorin stood in the doorway for moment and watched her. She sat twisting a small part of her robe’s fabric between her fingers. In a way, he felt sorry for her. She seemed like a sweet girl, with auburn locks and warm, brown eyes. She was also foolish, he thought to himself, because he had given her no kind of encouragement in any of this and he resented being now put into the position of having to say no.

She looked up to see him in the doorway and smiled.

Thorin awkwardly made his way to the sofa and sat beside her, leaving more space between them than she would have liked.

“Let’s avoid dragging this out longer than necessary,” he began, and her eyes lit up slightly.

“I do not wish to deceive you, but my father has… a bit of wishful thinking sometimes,” he continued, now looking away from her and down at his own hands.

He could feel her mood now change. This was excruciating.

“I have no desire to marry anyone, you see,” he said, gently now.

Kamma sat quietly for a moment and then gathered her overcoat and angrily made her way to the doorway, where she stopped and eyed him critically.

“You know she’s dead, right?” she said darkly. 

Thorin sat in silence before looking back up at Kamma. 

“Dead?” he demanded, now rising. “Who is dead? Who is ‘she’?”

“I know the whole story,” Kamma replied in a low voice. “Hjordis told me everything.”

“And what story is that?” he demanded, his temper beginning to rise.

“You promised yourself to some girl in Tharbad, and she didn’t want to come to the Blue Mountains with you,” she replied patronizingly. “But she’s gone now, so you’ve no promises to keep to anyone.”

“You know nothing of promises!” he snapped. “Where did you hear that anyone has died?”

“I see why nobody has told you anything, you’re too moody” she scoffed, then her face taking on a look of pity when she realized he truly didn’t know.

His temper flared in his eyes but he didn’t say a word.

“The bridge accident in Tharbad… you didn’t hear?” she began.

“Of course I heard of it, some men died,” he said lowly.

“Well, a dwarf girl – your girl – died too,” she said quietly. “Hjordis said only two dwarven families stayed behind in the whole city, and only one had a girl.”

Thorin eyed her warily, not quite sure if he could believe her or not. What would Hjordis know of Signí? They had only met once that night in Swanfleet, and he was pretty sure she hadn’t ever been to Tharbad that much. 

“Get out of my father’s house,” he said to Kamma in a low voice. He was furious. Either she was lying or someone wasn’t telling him something. Could it be true? This would explain why Dís had never gotten a response to the letter she had sent two years ago.

He knew he couldn’t fully blame Signí for staying all those years ago, she was just a maiden then. But still, he couldn’t help but feel some resentment building as the years passed – she would be an adult now, and perfectly capable of joining him here. If she were still alive, that is.

He had to find Dís. Maybe she knew something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * A marriage meeting, where the dwarrowess and the dwarf of her choosing get together. Both either accept or decline the other at this time. If both accept, they then discuss wedding and marriage details. This would then be considered betrothal, engagement or "azlaf". (disclaimer: my Khuzdul probably has errors, so feel free to correct it!)
> 
> I got most of my inspiration from Dwarrow Scholar on what he believes to be Dwarven marriage customs, though I added in the "marriage meeting" as my own idea for this story. This is the post by Dwarrow Scholar: https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/2013/04/11/whos-the-bride-dwarven-marriage/


	9. Hope and Loss

Dís stood staring into the fire, quietly processing all that Thorin had told her. It was odd to her that he’d mention Signí’s name now. Kamma was the second girl to go after her brother since being in the mountains. The first one definitely wasn’t his type, but this one seemed like she could be and Dís was rather surprised to see him still hung up on Signí. After all, hadn’t she turned him down? And as far as she had heard, that bridge accident back in Tharbad had only involved a few guards at the east end of town where the river widened. Why would Signí have any reason to go there? Then again, it had been years now and she had no idea what her old friend was up to these days.

“Brother…” Dís began softly. “Perhaps she has moved on now. You know, maybe with a family of her own… it has been so long now…”

“She would not do that,” Thorin replied sternly.

“But you don’t know that,” Dís said back gently, now studying her brother. He sat in one of the chairs facing the fire and stared at the floor, arms crossed.

“She would not do that, Dís,” he said again. “I know that.”

The dark brooding look on his face told her something else was going on here. This was more than typical dwarven stubbornness, even for him. 

“Oh, Mahal…” Dís mumbled as she began to realize that maybe Signí hadn’t turned him down after all. Suddenly everything made sense: his insistence on being alone, his weird mood swings, the way he often got into arguments with their father about settling down… didn’t he realize it would only get worse? Sure, if he truly never wanted marriage and kids and all that, he was well within his rights to say so. But no heir to the throne had ever opted out of that since before Durin VI; it was simply unheard of.

“Brother,” she now knelt down beside the chair so they’d face eye-to-eye. She was the only one in their family who could really talk to him. “You didn’t just ask her to come to the Blue Mountains, did you?”

He stared back at her saying nothing, but the answer was obvious. She’d never seen her brother look so fragile as he did then. The only other time she’d seen this look was on her grandfather’s face in the quiet moments before slipping into one of his fits of madness, talking to the Arkenstone as though he still had it in his possession. She stood up, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“This is azlâf –" she began.*

“I know what azlâf is, Dís,” he cut her off, an exasperated tone in his voice.

“You know what you must do then,” she shot back. “You cannot ignore this any longer.”

He now stood up and stared back into the fire again.

“I must find out the truth,” he said quietly, half to himself.

~1 Week Later~

Thorin slowed his pony to a trot as he came back into the village where he had spent so much of his youth. The western entrance had been closed off, forcing him to head north and past the east end – the border along which that collapsed bridge lay. _Mahal, what a dump_ , he thought to himself. He didn’t remember things looking so shabby around here before. The river seemed higher than he remembered too, and the muddy banks were a mess of debris and dead vegetation. Further on he could see the wreck of twisted metal and shards of wood half immersed in the water. It was clear that no one around here had even bothered to clean it up.

He paused a moment, unsure of whether he should mourn or keep going. Somehow the thought of mourning now seemed like it would destroy any hope of seeing her alive again, so he pressed on.

As he approached the tailor shop, a sick feeling settled in his gut like a brick. Someone had hung paper in the windows, blocking any view into the shop at all, and the door was bolted shut. The windows upstairs looked desolate, with no curtains or any sign of life within. This was very strange. _Perhaps they just moved…_ Thorin thought with a little hope.

He circled the building twice, unsure of what to do next until he remembered Beardon still owned the inn.

***

Thorin took another swig of his pint and leaned back in his chair. He’d been here for four hours now, and the bartender seemed to be growing wary of him. He was a skinny fellow, with sideburns and a hawk-like nose that jutted out from his thin, angular face. He had eyed Thorin suspiciously when he had asked for Beardon, and every time Thorin ordered another drink or a sandwich, he seemed to take an unusually long time to serve him. There wasn’t a single soul he recognized in this place either. Things had changed so much! He recalled how that back corner table had been Frerin’s favorite to play cards at. This place used to be so full of dwarves, but now it was half empty even at supper time.

“Ah Thorin, my lad!” came the boisterous drawl of Beardon, jarring Thorin out of his thoughts.

“Beardon, old friend!” he said warmly as they shook hands and hugged.

“What brings you out to this ol’ place?” Beardon asked, now taking a seat beside him. He had aged considerably since Thorin saw him last. “Things sure aren’t what they used to be. E’er since you dwarvenfolk left things are downright dull.” He waved for two more pints from the skinny guy, and they seemed to arrive much faster this time.

“I heard news of the bridge collapse,” he said, in a serious tone now. “And discovered a friend of mine may have been involved.”

Beardon’s expression grew solemn and took a swig before he spoke. Though he hadn’t known all of the details, he (and the rest of the city) knew Thorin had been involved with Signí after that fiasco with the orc.

“There were three guards that night,” he began. “You know how they added two extra at all times in case of another orc attack. Well there were three and it was a windy night. They were expecting a cargo in from up north. The wind had blown the lanterns out and they were having trouble relighting them, and in comes this boat.

“They screamed an’ yelled an’ waved their matches, but the captain didn’t see them. He tried to maneuver the barge as best he could, but with no light and the way the wind was howling, it crashed into the side of the bank and hit the lowest part of the bridge, knocking it all down. Poor Tom and Lamir, rest their souls, had been standing in the very middle of the bridge and fell straight down into the water.”

Beardon leaned in closer and now talked in a more hushed voice.

“Caddy survived, you see. Caddy came back talkin’ all this poppycock about a girl an’ gold an’ none of it made sense until the next day when word got out that Signí ran away.”

“She ran away?” Thorin asked. “And this was two months ago?”

“Aye,” Beardon replied. “But she was on the bridge you see, talkin’ to Caddy. Askin’ how to get to Swanfleet. He told her the barge that was comin’ would take her there if she waited.”

“And so she got on the barge?” Thorin asked, hope rising in his voice.

“No,” he replied. “She disappeared in the chaos of it all. The barge stayed through the night an’ when we could all get it unstuck the next day, we searched for her an’ Tom an’ Lamir. We found them all but her. There were some dwarves workin’ on the boat, but no dwarf girls.”

Thorin sat a moment, now looking down and processing what he had just heard. Had she been trying to get to the Blue Mountains? Did she think Bremir might still be in Swanfleet? He of course had just married Dís last month and was now living in the Blue Mountains.

“And her family?” he asked Beardon. “Are they still here?”

“Oh, Anvari was utterly heartbroken,” he replied, shaking his head. “His wife an’ their son an’ him all packed up and left for the Iron Hills. The missus wouldn’t talk to anyone, she was so forlorn. ‘Tis a real shame, all of it.”

He talked and drank with Beardon a while longer and then rented a room upstairs for the night. In his half-drunken haze he wanted to go find this Caddy guy and question him. _No, interrogate him_ , he thought, but his exhaustion got the better of him and soon he woke to the sun streaming in through the window, a sense of deep sorrow and a horrible, skull-splitting headache. He couldn’t believe he used to drink as much as he did last night and feel fine when he was younger. _Maybe the beer has changed too, and not for the better_ , he thought.

***

Back in the Blue Mountains, Thorin brooded for weeks. He kept to himself and rarely left his apartments. He now accepted that Signí was gone. He still had been holding out hope that she’d join him here, but now where that hope had been, he harbored anger and a profound sense of grief. She was his amrâlimê, the one he’d always thought of all these years and the one he had entered into azlâf with. He regretted not returning to Tharbad sooner. Maybe he could have convinced her to come if he had. But then again, she could have come sooner on her own too. They both had lost each other in their own haze of stubbornness.

He had lost so much already: his grandfather, his brother, his birthright and his home. _Home_ , the word echoed in his mind. In a way, Signí had been a sense of home to him. _The last bit of home_ , he thought bitterly. _And now that is gone too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * literally "sleep," the stage of Dwarven engagement before marriage. This can be official or unofficial at first, but it is entered into through words (a declaration, proposal) or action (consummating the relationship).


	10. Lost Mail

~2 Months Earlier~

One late evening, Signí had closed the shop and was in the small back office counting down the money for the day and reconciling the week’s orders. She was nearly done when she ran out of space on the sheet of paper and realized she didn’t have any more tally sheets. Fumbling around in the lower drawers and finding nothing, she blindly reached her hand into the shelves above her when a stack of cards and papers wrapped in twine fell down.

She bent down to inspect it and saw that it was mostly just old mail addressed to her father. Many of the pieces were dated a few years prior and contained old agreements for large orders, an old rental contract and… a piece with her name on it caught her eye. It had been opened and then folded back into its envelope.

Signí unfolded it and gasped.

_“Signí,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I had been meaning to write you sooner but you know it goes, moving and all._

_Now that we’re in the mountains, Bremir and I are getting married! It’s not official yet, but I’m telling you since I know you’ll keep our secret. He is still working in Swanfleet to save up enough for a sum,* even though Father wouldn’t be that picky about how much. He’s stubborn of course, so no date has been set until he has enough. We are thinking it will be in a year or two._

_Anyway, there is another reason I am writing. Please come to the Blue Mountains. He will never admit it of course, but Thorin hasn’t been the same since we came here. I know he misses Frerin, and we all do, but I can tell there is something else that bothers him. He’s already turned down a proposal and Father is asking him about when he plans to settle down, and he refuses to talk to anyone about it. Let’s be honest, I know my brother and I know this has something to do with you. (Plus I need you to be a bridesmaid!)_

_Bremir travels through Tharbad about once a month, so he would most certainly bring you here! Just find him and ask- you know he is good friends with Bearden._

_Write back!_

_Your friend,  
Dís”_

 

Signí seethed. So Dís had written her and her father must have opened this and read it and obviously hid it from her! The letter was dated as being two years old now. Ugh! Dís must think she was an awful friend, having not written back! And how many other letters from Dís had her father hidden from her? And what of Thorin? He’s had a proposal already? Guilt washed over her as she thought of that last night before he left. Of course he turned it down. She had claimed him (well, they had claimed each other), but she hadn’t _really_ , at least not in any official sense. But he couldn’t just move on; no respectable dwarf functioned that way. He was stuck in limbo, trapped with her in eternal azlâf, because of her own stubbornness and pride and fear of angering her father. And what had her hesitation gotten her? Nothing! Here she was, still in Tharbad and bored out of her mind and with nothing! Doomed to be alone for the rest of her life.

She stormed upstairs to where her parents were sitting in the living room by the fireplace and threw the letter at her father.

“Why?” she demanded. “Why did you hide this from me?”

In shock, Anvari looked at the letter and rose, but said nothing at first.

“Why?” she demanded again.

“I was protecting you,” her father said, weakly at first. “I have worked so hard to secure a future for you and your brother… I can’t let you just throw it away all because of some bad influence.”

“What bad influence?” she spit back. “Of the daughter of your _king_?”

Now Anvari was the angry one.

“Of Thorin, who you might think you have some kind of adolescent infatuation with,” he said in a dark, low voice, “but you don’t know the world yet and there is a strain of madness that runs in that family.”

Anvari then threw the letter into the fireplace and sat back down to his book. 

“We won’t speak of this again,” he said angrily and firmly as the edges of the paper now ignited and curled into ash.

Signí stormed to her room and slammed the door. Tears ran down her face. An 'adolescent infatuation', what an insult! A 'strain of madness?' How could her father call himself a Longbeard and yet say such disloyal things about Thorin and his family? True, she had heard stories of Thror’s goldsickness and humans and elves alike seemed to enjoy blaming him for Smaug’s attraction to Erebor. But that was done now, and why would her father have anything against Thorin? He wasn’t Thror, and besides, her father had once been a drinking buddy with Thrain!

 

A little while later she heard a light knock on the door, so light that she thought she might have imagined it until her mother opened it and came in.

“Signí dear,” she said softly as she sat on the bed where Signí lay. “I am so sorry.”

She turned to face her mother, who now softly brushed the hair back from her face.

“I didn’t know about the letter,” she continued. “I didn’t realize there was something more serious with you and-“

Her voice trailed off and the tears came again as Signí now buried her face into her pillow.

Her mother rubbed her back and they sat in silence for a while. All of the emotions Signí had bottled up and pushed away these years now had opened like a floodgate. Not quite knowing how to deal with them, she felt weak and wounded.

“This came for you a few months ago,” her mother quietly said after a while, handing her an envelope with an embossed piece of cardstock inside. “Your father doesn’t know.”

Signí weakly took it and looked at it. It had the royal symbol of Thrain in the grain of the paper with only her name and address on the front. She opened it and pulled out a card. It was Dís’ wedding invitation! It was beautiful, and from the way it was worded it looked like it would be a big wedding. She was a princess after all, and Signí only imagined that there would be a huge feast, with probably the entire dwarven population in the Blue Mountains celebrating. At the bottom was Dís’ handwriting instructing her to show this invite to the guards.

“You know your father means well, but you are old enough now to make your own decisions,” her mother said softly. “I think you know what you need to do, and I fear you will always regret it if you don’t.”

Her mother then handed her a bag of what felt like clothing and a small but heavy pouch. As Signí looked inside the pouch, she gasped.

“Mother, you can’t give this to me,” she said in disbelief. “This is everything you and Father have-“

“It’s only a small amount,” her mother hushed her. “You will need it.”

She then kissed Signí on the forehead and made her way to the doorway, hesitating and looking back at her daughter.

“Promise you’ll write,” she said quietly. “And don’t forget you have kin in the Iron Hills, should you need a place to go.”

Her mother wiped away a tear and smiled weakly at Signí before quietly disappearing into the hallway.

So this was it. This was her chance. She’d long considered running away, but had no means to do it or really even the guts to. Now her mother was urging her, and once she left she could never come back.

The bag contained a _sakadiki-nikud_ , a specially made robe designed to conceal the identity of a female dwarf. She’d only seen her mother wear this a handful of times. Having been of the younger generation herself and never needing to travel anywhere outside Tharbad, Signí had never worn such an outfit before. But now she would have to wear it for her own protection.

She pulled the androgynous robe over her head and struggled to figure out the awkward layers of the hood. The outer layer was meant to rest over her head of course, but an inner layer could rest behind her head, exposing her face, or it could be draped in front, acting as both a scarf and obscuring any possible lack of facial hair. Having only sideburns herself, Signí pulled that layer in front and examined her reflection in the mirror.

She really did look like a man! She’d have to use a little makeup for a truly convincing effect, but it wasn't bad for a first glance. A sheathe of fabric draped across the chest area and secured into a thin-belted middle, designed to obscure any hint of a feminine figure. Pockets smartly lined the inside of the lower half of the robe, adding a masculine bulk and allowing for extra storage.

She slipped into the hallway, the purse hanging heavily near her thigh with the coins inside threatening to clink if she moved too quickly. Dís’ wedding invite lay folded in a pocket near her chest. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as she tiptoed through the kitchen and made her way to the back door.

“Signí?” She froze as a voice whispered behind her.

Alfí stood near the table now, a questioning look in his eyes. Even though he had reached an age where he was now beginning to understand, he was still so young and innocent.

“I’ll come back, I promise,” she smiled and whispered reassuringly. She saw so much of herself in him, even if he was a boy. Much like her at that age, he had grown incredibly skilled in their father’s craft, but he had no one his age to play with, since nearly all the dwarves had left Tharbad. It was a pretty lonely childhood for a dwarf kid, really. In that moment she wished they had been closer in age the way Dís had been with Frerin and Thorin.

He reached out to hug her goodbye and she wondered if she really would get to see him again.

***

Outside, the air had turned chilly and the wind had picked up. An early Spring storm was brewing off in the distance. Signí hadn’t quite planned out how she’d get to Ered Luin other than seeing if she could make her way to Swanfleet to find Bremir first. In fact, she hadn’t even planned out what she’d do for the night, and now the incoming storm threatened any chances of walking on foot. Should she go to the inn? No, she was certain Master Bearden would recognize her, and even if he didn’t he’d certainly question a “new” dwarf in town since everyone had left for Ered Luin years ago.

 _I know!_ she thought to herself. Caddy the guard was sure to not recognize her and he would know the best way to get to Swanfleet. A wiry fellow, he had always been one of her best customers at the shop and always had stories from his time watching over the city gates. He was well traveled too, having met elves, hobbits and a great many other creatures. He also didn’t know her as well as Bearden did, so the chances of passing undetected were good, she figured.

The wind picked up even stronger now and Signí debated whether she ought to find some kind of shelter for the time being or keep going. She was now near the docks though, and the thought of turning around just for a hideout didn’t appeal to her. The bridge that connected to the city gate loomed just ahead and she hurried.

Caddy was in the process of relighting the blown out lantern above his post when Signí got there and she watched him for a moment. Suddenly it dawned on her that he’d realize she was a girl when she spoke to him. 

“Can I help ya with somethin’?” he asked as he jumped down. “Though you might want to take cover, this storm’s lookin’ like a fierce one.”

“I’m trying to get to Swanfleet,” Signí replied, trying to make her voice sound a little deeper. Caddy squinted at her in the dim light, obviously having expected to hear a manlier voice come from this dwarf before him.

“Okay, okay,” Signí sighed and pulled her hood back. “Can you keep my secret? I really need to get to Swanfleet tonight. I can pay you.”

“You dwarves and your secrets!” Caddy smiled, now instantly recognizing her. “A barge is comin’ in any minute to drop some stuff off and heads to Swanfleet right after. Luck is on your side!” 

This was great news! He directed her to wait under the alcove to the side, out of the wind. This was the little shelter the guards sat inside of during the winter. From here, she watched as he and the two other guards desperately tried relighting the lanterns to no avail. The wind now blew very hard and whipped drops of rain around like tiny pellets against anything that stood in its way.

“Zounds! This blasted wind!” cried Caddy as one of the guards yelled something Signí couldn’t quite catch.

Suddenly the very loud noise of a boat’s horn emanated from below Signí’s feet and excitement filled her as she jumped out to see the barge. But where the barge should have stopped, it kept coming and without warning the floor below her feet gave way to thin air and cracking wood and twisting metal. She hit the water before she realized what was happening, and her heavy robes and coin purse pulled her downward.

Having barely gotten the chance to hold her breath before being plunged underwater, she now held desperately on to what little sat in her lungs. She frantically clawed at her clothing in an attempt to rip it all off so she could reach the surface, but it only served to waste the little oxygen she had left and her fingers grew clumsy and weak.

 _So this is how it ends?_ she thought to herself. Images of her dull life flashed by in her mind as her limbs lay suspended in the pitch-black cold water around her.

 _NO!_ her mind screamed, and her burning lungs and pounding head kicked another surge of adrenaline into her bloodstream as she frantically tried to work her clothes off again. _Mahal did not make me weak_. In that moment, something brushed against her arm and caught her finger. She was immersed in total darkness but she reached her hand out and felt its roughness pass against her fingers. It was a net! Something or someone was pulling it upwards! Wherever it was going, it had to be better than the bottom of the river!

She grabbed it with all her remaining strength and fought hard against the urge to inhale the water that kept trying to beat its way into her nose and mouth. Up, up it went, but it didn’t seem fast enough. She couldn’t hold her breath any longer and her fingers were starting to grow numb and a rushing static noise began to fill her ears. She managed to loop her arms through the ropes of the net before she lost all feeling, and then things went even blacker than being under the water already was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * a sum is kind of like a dowry, but is the gift of the groom to the bride's family. It is not given as though he were purchasing her or anything like that. Rather, it is a show of respect and a symbol of his promise to protect and provide for his new bride.


	11. A Second Chance

“I think he’s finally waking up,” a soft voice said, so soft that Signí was sure she was at home in her bed dreaming.

She rolled over and groaned. Her body was in immense pain! She opened her eyes and realized she was in some kind of fabric dwelling. Someone had laid a blanket around her, but this was material she had never encountered before. She reached down to grab her throbbing knee and she realized she was in only her underwear! Anger and humiliation filled her. Who or what had abducted her, and where were her clothes?

A face peeked inside the tent and Signí was struck by how long it was. Its almond shaped eyes blinked and its thin lips curled into a smile. It turned its head and whispered something in another language before facing her again. It climbed into the tent and Signí realized it was a girl… something. Perhaps an elf? She had never seen one before, but it was very tall and had the loveliest hair. But didn’t elves dislike dwarves? Why was this one being so nice to her? _They’re going to eat me!_ she realized, and fear now gripped her. How would she escape now?

“You were caught up in a net that got washed onshore,” she said smiling still. “We thought you might be dead, but it looks like someone had other plans for you. What is your name?”

Shaking slightly, no words could come to her as her mind raced with thoughts of how she might escape.

“Poor thing has amnesia!” the elf exclaimed. “I’m Lótë and this is Lindir.”

Lindir popped his head into the tent, smiled and bowed slightly before disappearing again.

“Your clothes are drying in the sun,” Lótë explained. “We have food when you’re ready.”

Signí looked around her and then sat up. Her skin hurt as she moved and she realized the red patches on her arms and legs must be sunburn from where the loose fabric of her robe had hitched up in places as she lay baking on the beach. Her face was on fire too. A small bowl with water and herbs sat nearby and their fragrance was refreshing as she splashed some of it on her burning skin.

She sat in the tent longer than she should have before realizing they probably weren’t going to eat her. After all, why would they have saved her life? By the time she emerged, her belly was growling and the sun was setting.

Lindir and Lótë were sitting near the fire drinking something and looking up at the stars. Signí sheepishly joined them, having wrapped the blanket around her for modesty. They handed her a bowl of what looked like various vegetables. Her brain wondered where the meat was but her appetite made no discretions. Food was food.

“Thank you,” she managed to squeak out. Her voice was nearly gone from having inhaled all that water.

Lótë squinted at her and then covered her mouth and giggled a little.

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed. “You’re a maiden!”

Signí’s cheeks reddened even more under her sunburn.

“You’ll have to forgive my wife,” Lindir apologized. “She’s never seen a dwarf before, much less a lady dwarf.”

 _Well you look like a lady yourself!_ she viciously thought at Lindir, but she kept her mouth shut.

Signí huffed toward where her clothes were hanging and she disappeared into the tent to put them on. The coin purse was still tied and hidden away in that inside pocket by some miracle. _At least they haven’t robbed me_ , she thought.

She came back out, threw a few gold coins at the two elves and started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Lindir asked, an amused smile on his face now turning into concern. “This is not a safe place for a maiden to be traveling alone, dwarf or otherwise.” 

She hesitated and realized he was right, and for that matter she really had no idea where she was or even any way of protecting herself. She sat back down by the fire and told them that she came from Tharbad and was trying to get to the Blue Mountains. This shocked them, as they explained that she must have floated downstream about two hundred miles, for she was just outside of Lond Daer! It was a miracle indeed that she had managed to survive.

Lindir offered to take her to a merchant friend in the city if she didn’t mind riding on the back of his horse. They were traveling along the countryside anyway, and they didn’t mind the detour. Signí looked at him warily. She was hesitant to trust strangers to begin with, but she had heard so many stories of elves taking advantage of dwarves. Her gut told her these two must be different but her brain was on edge.

“I know dwarves and elves don’t really get along most of the time,” he seemed to read her thoughts. “We mean no harm. Our friend makes trips to the Blue Mountains on the regular. You can hitch a ride.”

***

The next morning they departed, two elves on two horses with a dwarrowess on the back of one. The horses were much bigger than the ponies she’d encountered in Tharbad, and their fast strides made her dizzy. She clung to the back of the elf's robe like a small child as they rode on.

They traveled for a few hours. Houses appeared in sparse numbers at first, dotting the countryside with simple farms. As they approached the harbor city, its many buildings seemed impressive at first, but Signí soon saw that a lot of them were abandoned and falling into ruin as she got a better look. The streets were dirty and littered with debris, and broken glass lay in spots where windows were busted out.

Lindir’s horse suddenly stopped in front of a large warehouse and he turned around to help Signí down. The building’s doors were open and she could see it was filled with various items grouped into bundles: metal pots and pans, furniture, bricks and tiles… it seemed like a storehouse for anything and everything, though a lot of it just looked like junk. A path led around the structure to a little cottage with overgrown bushes in front.

Lindir knocked on the door and a scruffy, middle-aged man appeared.

“Lindir!” he exclaimed. “What brings you ‘round these parts?”

He invited the three of them in. The house was shabby but tidy, and a very round woman stood over a coal lit stove stirring a pot. Lindir motioned to Signí and Lótë to sit down on the bowed sofa in the other room while he stayed in the kitchen discussing some matter with the man.

Signí grew uneasy as they seemed to go on for a while talking in low voices.

“Is this really a good idea for me to stay here?” she asked Lótë nervously.

“Of course it is…” she replied, but her voice didn’t sound as sure as her words. “Lindir is just figuring out the logistics.”

Just as Signí had nearly made up her mind to leave and find someplace to stay, Lindir turned and called her back into the other room. The woman had disappeared and the man sat at the table looking curiously at her.

“Signí, this is Wendar,” he said, gracefully gesturing his hand in a swooping motion between the two. “He won’t be bringing anything to the Blue Mountains for another eight weeks, but he and his wife are willing to offer you room and board for a small price.”

Eight weeks! That was two months! She couldn’t wait that long. She’d miss Dís’ wedding for sure, if it hadn’t already happened.

“I – it’s okay – I can find an inn to stay in,” Signí stammered. She’d find her own way out of the city. She felt as though she were imposing here anyway.

“There is no inn,” Lindir said flatly. “At least not one that would be safe for you.”

“People here don’t like dwarves, miss,” Wendar explained. “They like you’s crafts but don’t like you. You are better off staying here than tryin’ to travel alone.”

“Is there any way we can leave sooner than in two months?” Signí asked, overcoming her shyness. “I can pay you- or perhaps I can borrow or buy a pony? Isn’t it only a couple days’ traveling time to get there from here?” This time she now spoke to them both.

Wendar smiled at her as though he were addressing a small child.

“You can’t get into the Blue Mountains without the proper paperwork, lass,” he explained.

Just then Signí remembered the invitation with Dís’ instructions for showing it to the guards. She reached into the inner pocket and pulled it out, but the time in the river had destroyed any writing that was once on it and now it sat dried and brittle in her fingers.

“Well, wouldn’t they let me in seeing as I’m a Longbeard too?” she asked.

“They let no one in without the proper paperwork or origin,” Lindir cut in. “You cannot just show up. If you go with Wendar, he can say you work for him and that’ll give you an origin. Wendar has a shipping contract that only lets him visit four times a year. He can’t afford to use up a visit just to take you there.”

“Dwarves and their contracts!” Wendar mumbled to himself as he nodded in agreement with Lindir.

***

The two months passed slowly. Being basically relegated to Wendar’s house, Signí felt as though she were in a prison. She wanted to explore Lond Daer and visit the docks where the sea met the shore, but her hosts were adamant about her safety and insisted she not leave at all. They were a kind couple, but it was clear they were poor. In fact, all of the city seemed to be living in some sort of poverty, and the people here made Tharbad look well off. She had the guest room and adjoining bathroom all to herself, but there wasn’t enough coal or even wood outside of what was used for cooking, so any bath she might take would be freezing cold. Furthermore, the water had to be carried in from the well outside and lugging gallons of water up a flight of stairs multiple times just wasn’t worth it. Food was another commodity that didn’t come in abundance, though Signí’s coin purse helped with that. At first, Wendar didn’t want to take more than the agreed-upon rooming fee, but she insisted he buy more meat as rice and beans just didn’t cut it for her enthusiastic dwarven appetite.

The morning they left for Ered Luin was a rainy one. Signí had helped Wendar and his wife load the large, wide wagon with the varied assortment of items hoarded in the warehouse. It sagged in one corner and Signí questioned its ability to carry all that weight. However, Wendar’s horses strode swiftly and efficiently for such a clumsy, haphazard thing, and if it weren’t for their natural enthusiasm Signí would have sooner walked than ridden in it. The rain came down steadily, pouring more at some times than others. The awning over the seats did little to shield them from it and this irritated Signí. She already looked a wreck from being unable to take a proper bath for the last eight weeks.

Signí looked out at the flatlands ahead. These miles of grass would soon be turning into mountains, and she wondered if these mountains would be home or if she’d find herself a stranger there. Would Thorin forgive her for staying behind in Tharbad all this time? Or would he not wish to see her at all? If he didn’t accept her, would she find herself exiled to the Iron Hills, or worse, back in Tharbad? A chill of anxiety ran through her body.

Her stomach was twisted in knots, but she couldn’t turn back now.


	12. Ered Luin

The landscape slowly turned from grassland to craggy and Signí knew the mountains were close. Had it not been for the heavy fog, she’d have watched as the peaks loomed ahead.

“Ya’d think we were visiting the Misty Mountains, eh?” Wendar chuckled, but Signí didn’t find references to her ancestral home very funny. In a way though, the fog had a soothing effect and seemed to buffer her anxiety as they approached.

They entered a large gap in the mountainside and a gate loomed. Wendar pulled the horses to a stop and a dwarf in a soldier’s uniform appeared from a well-hidden post. He inspected Wendar’s papers, took a quick look over the wagon’s goods, grunted an approval and the gate opened. Wendar drove the horses to a post nearby and jumped out as dwarves came to unload the wagon.

“Come with me,” he instructed Signí, and she followed.

They entered an office where various dwarves scurried about behind a counter, filling out, inspecting and searching for various contracts.

“Your papers?” one asked, as she and Wendar stood there.

“I need an origin contract for her; she’s my employee,” he lied.

“Origin?” the dwarf squinted at her suspiciously. She knew this looked funny – a dwarf girl working for a human merchant with no relative accompanying her was strange indeed!

“Your father’s name?” the dwarf asked her as he went through his list of questions. Signí froze. She had wanted to avoid telling anyone that at all costs. For one, he wasn’t exactly a shining example of loyalty anymore, and two, she feared someone might recognize the name and realize she was a runaway or otherwise assume she’d been abducted and would want to contact her father.

The dwarf now squinted harder at her when she failed to answer his question for a second time. He pulled his spectacles off and glared at her.

“Do you have any kin, family or otherwise here that you are trying to see?” he now demanded.

“Dís is a close friend of mine,” she replied, but then instantly regretted it when she realized how insane she probably looked.

The dwarf mumbled something under his breath and then called out for a guard.

“You’ll have to be detained until we can better assess the situation,” he said sternly as the guard now took her by the arm and began leading her off.

She glanced back at Wendar who gave her a sympathetic look and shrugged, now powerless over being able to help her at all. The guard led her to a small room situated behind the busy counter. The door remained open and she was instructed to take a seat at one of the three chairs that lined the wall. She wondered how long she’d have to wait. She just hoped that they wouldn’t kick her out of the Blue Mountains altogether!

After about an hour, the same frazzled dwarf who had asked her all those questions now took a seat outside the door and chatted with the guard. Signí wanted to yell at him and ask him to get this supposed situation assessed or whatever so she could be on her way. Maybe if she snuck out and wandered around she’d eventually find someone she knew.

“Ah, is this my hire?” a voice chirped as a matronly dwarrowess burst into the small room.

“Uh… yes!” Signí responded, jumping enthusiastically to her feet. She hoped she hadn’t just signed herself up for something terrible.

“Hmm, I guess if they chose you, they chose you,” she said dubiously as she eyed Signí. “No matter, we’ll get you cleaned up for the princess!”

The princess? Signí couldn’t believe her luck! Just five minutes ago she was wondering how she was going to get out of being detained, but now someone was going to take her straight to Dís!

“This is your hire?” the frazzled dwarf asked the dwarrowess with the same dubious tone in his voice that she had had. “Then why didn’t you say so?” he said as he turned to Signí. She simply smiled back, elated at her change in fortune.

She followed the dwarrowess through long corridors, and memories of Erebor came flooding back to her. How lovely those halls had been, sweetly radiant with golden light. Here there were shadows instead, but they had a strangely comforting feel. They certainly made her feel more at home than the buildings and streets built by humans had ever done.

They arrived in a corridor that looked a little more lived in and Signí realized that this must be near where the Durin family lived, because they now came to a series of rooms where employed servants resided.

“Now you’ll report to me, but for the most part you’ll act as support for the princess,” the matronly dwarf said to Signí. “Oh, and I almost forgot. I’m Myrna.”

Myrna smiled and handed Signí a pile of clothes, then whisked her into a bathroom and closed the door.

“Don’t forget to wash up!” she warbled from the other side of the door. “We can’t have you looking like _that_.”

The tub had been filled with warm water, and for the first time since she had left her parents’ house she got to take a real bath. It felt like luxury after the poor accommodations at Wendar’s house.

“Two more minutes!” Myrna called and Signí hurried to braid her damp hair. The outfit that was given to her was a little on the big side and the material was scratchy. It was a maid’s robe and plain brown, and definitely not her taste. She scrunched her nose in disgust at her appearance in the mirror but reassured herself that once she got to see Dís she’d be rescued from this fashion disaster.

“I’ll show you around and then you’ll get to work!” Myrna continued to chirp, leading her into another room and pointing to one of two beds. “You’ll sleep there. Unless you already have a place to stay with someone?”

Signí shook her head no, but certainly Dís would take her in, she reasoned to herself.

Myrna now led her down the corridor and into a room that was decorated much more nicely. Would she finally be seeing her old friend now? Her heart pounded in anticipation. She’d missed Dís so much! And of course Thorin, but that was a given. It was also a whole other complicated thing, but it was something she knew Dís would have the best advice for anyway.

“Go on in and introduce yourself,” Myrna said softly. “I have to take care of something, but I’ll be down the hall should you need anything.”

A well-dressed female dwarf sat at a desk with her back turned to the doorway. Signí wanted to run up and hug her old friend, but it had been years and she was afraid Dís might not recognize her. The room was dimly lit with only a couple of candles and it was hard to see. Just then, the dwarf princess turned around.

“I wondered when they’d bring you,” she said softly. Dís’ voice was a bit higher-pitched than she remembered, and she squinted hard to see her face in the dim light. The princess stood up and walked closer, candle in hand.

“And what is your name?” she asked, and in that instant Signí realized that this supposed princess was not Dís at all!

She stood half-paralyzed in shock and found herself unable to answer the question. Who was this girl, and how was she a princess? Could she be Dain’s wife? She knew he had recently married. But wouldn’t Dain’s wife have brought her own ladies-in-waiting with her?

“Do you not have a name?” the princess asked again, irritation now creeping up in her voice.

“S-Signí,” she stammered, and gave a small curtsy. 

“Of course they gave me a simpleton,” the princess murmured and eyed her critically. “Myrna!”

Signí’s cheeks flushed in anger at this insult. Myrna arrived, out of breath and having obviously run from down the hall.

“She’d be better suited for something easy, like the laundry,” the princess told her. “A shame such pretty looks are wasted on the dull.”

Her words stung Signí, but before she could react she was being led down the hall by Myrna to another room. Shaking, she glared at the lady-dwarf, fighting hard to keep her composure.

“She can be a bit… demanding,” Myrna said softly, and then leaned in closer. “Truth be told, you’re the sixth one and the only reason we put up with it is because of our duty to Thorin.”

Duty to Thorin! Now Signí was really confused. How was this ill-tempered princess related to Thorin? And for that matter, where in Mahal’s name was Dís? She had so many questions she wanted to ask Myrna, but she didn’t know where to even begin.

Before she could get a word out, Myrna was called away by another dwarf wearing the same uniform she had seen in the contracts office. Left all alone, Signí wasn’t sure what to do now. She crept to the doorway, wondering when Myrna might come back but then realized this was her opportunity to explore. If these were the chambers where the Durin family lived, she might find Dís and Thorin! Then she wouldn’t have to wear this hideous maid’s robe and that awful princess would have to eat her words.

She swiftly made her way down the hall and walked extra quietly past the room where she had encountered the princess. To her surprise, each of the four remaining rooms down this end was completely empty. In fact, they looked freshly cleaned and seemingly waiting for occupants as though it were an inn.

So this must be a guest wing of some sort! And this strange princess must be a visitor. Could she be a cousin or something? Signí wracked her mind for anything she knew about the various dwarf lords and kings with any daughters who might have a reason to come here and stay, but she had no idea. Myrna’s “duty to Thorin” led her to believe that this strange visitor must be some sort of relative, but why did she say Thorin’s name? It was all so strange.

Now coming back to the other end of the hall, Signí peered down the main corridor. To her left was the way Myrna had taken her. She quickly glanced behind her and dashed to the right. This hall was decorated with a few painted portraits of dwarves Signí couldn’t recognize, yet there was a familiarity in their faces. They were mostly women and dwarflings, and she realized they must be Durin relatives. One in particular looked as though it had been painted recently, for it lacked the dust and fading that usually accompanies old wall hangings. There were three dwarflings here: a boy with dark, curly hair –he was the tallest– holding a baby girl with the same brown hair, and another boy with similar features and dirty blond hair. This was Thorin, Dís and Frerin as kids! She could recognize that trio anywhere. This must be a recreated painting, for the original had surely been destroyed by dragon fire.

“The laundry won’t fold itself,” a gruff voice rumbled behind her. "You must be the new girl."

She turned to see a portly, stern looking dwarf eyeing her warily. He pointed to a room just a few steps away and she sheepishly backed into it. Illumined by a couple of torches, a long table held piles of clothing, curtains and bed linens, all freshly washed and dried. _I’m supposed to fold all this?_ she thought to herself. The dwarf had not followed her in, so she quickly made up her mind to look busy until he left the hall. She would find Dís and everything would be fine. The thought of having a bed and food and work in this strange place (even if she was among her people) was comforting, but knowing Thorin was around here somewhere and here she was reduced to work she didn’t like was not something she could do. It wasn’t that she felt it beneath her; it was that here, in this uniform, she had given up her own identity and all that she had trained and worked for over the years. Dwarves take their skills and talents very seriously. 

She quickly folded a few sheets and then peeked out into the hall. He was gone. Clutching the linens, she slipped out into the hall again and made her way to the series of rooms at the end.

She heard a noise behind her and quickly ducked into the first doorway, pretending to look busy. This looked like a large sitting room, a very ornate, slightly garish sofa sat in the middle, facing an unlit fireplace. This room was on the outer edge of the mountainous walls, for heavy curtains were drawn back to reveal three large, open windows. The late afternoon sunlight poured in and was a welcome sight for her. Having lived so long outside her natural habitat in Tharbad, Signí had lost much of her inner dwarven sense of time.

“Oh good! You’ve found the princess’ linens, I see,” Myrna’s voice surprised her. She spun around and faced her.

“For Dís? Where do I take these?” Signí asked. Myrna eyed her oddly.

“You’re not from here, are you?” she asked suspiciously. “These are Thrain’s Quarters. Only he and Thorin live here. Dís lives with Bremir on the other side.” She waved her hand to the right in a nonspecific manner and smiled.

“Everyone knows who Kamma is, even in the Iron Hills,” Myrna continued. “Anyway, take these to her room. Fen takes care of this corridor, so you won’t have come over here much.”

Signí was starting to feel a bit queasy. Who in Mahal’s name was Kamma? And why was she living in the guest suite of Thrain and Thorin?

Myrna shooed her from the room and Signí found herself walking back to Kamma’s room. She felt as though she were in a dream that was quickly morphing into a nightmare. She had a bad feeling about this Kamma girl and she’d sooner cut her own head off than spend her days doing laundry for this so-called princess.

Signí reached the doorway of her destination and hesitated. Was Kamma in there? She really didn’t want to have to talk to her again. Maybe she’d just keep walking instead. She’d wander around until she found Dís, since now she had a vague idea of where she might be. Or maybe she’d leave this place altogether! Even the forest seemed preferable to here right now.

Just as she turned to walk away, Thorin’s familiar voice from inside the room stopped her short.


	13. Together Again

“And for more than one, we’ll divide it equally between them,” came Thorin’s voice.

Heart pounding, Signí stood outside the doorway and peered in. Kamma was once again sitting at the desk while Thorin leaned over her. Their backs turned, Signí stood in utter shock watching them for a moment. They were writing on a long scroll of paper. _No, this can’t be…_ she thought to herself. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Without completely realizing what she was doing, she stepped into the room. _A zarb!_ *

She dropped the linens she had been carrying as the shock of what they were doing washed over her. The material fell into a soft _pft!_ sound on the floor, but to everyone in the room, the noise was deafening.

Thorin and Kamma simultaneously turned in what seemed like slow motion, and all Signí saw were his eyes, his blue, blue eyes. They stared back at her in a sort of horrified recognition, yet they seemed unable to process what they were seeing.

“Ugh, that’s the simple girl I told you about,” came Kamma’s cutting words, but Thorin didn’t seem to hear them.

“Impossible…” Thorin murmured as he took a few steps toward Signí. “You’re not… dead!” he exclaimed in disbelief.

“Dead?” Kamma asked, though her words still fell on deaf ears.

Thorin cupped Signí’s face in his hands and smiled, murmuring something inaudibly. Signí smiled back and reached her hands up to meet his, but his expression suddenly changed as he pulled away.

“Dead?” Kamma repeated more loudly, now anger in her voice.

“Not… dead,” Thorin replied, dazed, with a dark look now clouding his face.

Just then Myrna walked in, stopping short as she witnessed the strange scene unfolding before her.

“Keep her...” Thorin instructed Myrna, pointing to Signí. “Do not let her leave.”

Thorin stormed out of the room, and Myrna looked at Signí questioningly.

“I know who you are,” Kamma said, a jeering tone in her voice as she came closer to Signí. “You’ve betrayed him. After all he’s been through. And now you’ve come back to ruin everything for him all over again.”

Signí fumed, and a primal force took over as she lunged forward to grab at Kamma’s face, but Myrna’s strong arms stopped her.

“I don’t know what is going on, but it’s not happening here,” Myrna hissed into Signí’s ear as she led her away. The corridor was a blur of torches and tapestries as Signí’s fury slowly assuaged itself as she tried to keep up with Myrna’s brisk pace.

They came into the servants’ quarters and Signí slowly sat down, a drained feeling now creeping in as the realization of what just happened came over her. _Thorin writing a zarb?_ she thought, and her anger began to build up again.

Myrna watched her for a moment.

“Where did you say you were from again?” she asked Signí.

Signí glared at her.

“Tharbad.”

She no longer cared if anyone knew her real identity now. As far as she was concerned, she’d have rather stayed at the bottom of the river at this point.

A curious look came over Myrna, but she stayed quiet and sat on one of the beds along the wall. Signí began to calm down a little, but she felt sick to her stomach. This was not at all how she pictured seeing Thorin again would be. If only she could have convinced Wendar to bring her sooner! If only she had come with Thorin when she’d had the chance. Now it was too late! So many times she had thought of being reunited with him, but she never had really let her mind wander too far into it; the pain of not being with him was more than she wanted to deal with. And here he had thought she was really gone and moved on. Since they had never finalized anything, their azlâf had ended when she ‘died,’ and now here she was, complicating everything again. Of course no dwarf could be in azlâf with two… that was downright scandalous! _And now I’ve brought shame upon the one dwarf I love most!_ Signí thought bitterly.

Someone knocked on the door and Myrna answered it, somewhat surprised to see it was Dís. She was even more surprised when she rushed over to Signí to hug her.

“I left as soon as they told me you were here!” she exclaimed, hugging Signí again. “We heard about the bridge accident, and then…” she trailed off.

Signí smiled back weakly. Dís looked exactly the same as she remembered; only perhaps her dark hair was a little longer. Her wine-colored robe was beautifully adorned with various gems and homemade lace around the collar and bust, and it wrapped to the side in a modestly feminine flair. She knew Dís must have made it herself, and Signí smiled at how skilled she had become: Dís had been her pupil at one time, after all. 

Signí’s smile faded as she came back into the moment. She was grateful to see her old friend again, but she wondered if Dís knew how upset Thorin was. She seemed much too happy compared to Thorin’s reaction.

“Are you alright? How did you get here? Why didn’t you tell the guards you are a friend of mine?” Dís asked, as she looked Signí over. “Myrna, get some extra dresses please,” she said, looking over Signí’s shoulder.

With Myrna gone, Dís’ face became serious as she talked in a low voice.

“So you’ve met Kamma,” she said, with a sardonic tone as she said the name. “I’m afraid a lot has changed, Signí.”

“He’s changed,” Signí spoke finally. “He was so angry. I should never have come.”

“He has changed,” Dís agreed. “He has never been the same since Frerin died. He gets in these moods… many say he’s just like Grandfather.”

Signí looked down at the floor, unable to get any words out. She recalled old memories of Thror: his kindness to her when she was just a dwarfling and how he smiled at her antics with Thorin. But that had only been one side of him. She had heard the stories of his temper, growing along with the wealth of Erebor into a malignant gold-sickness. She couldn’t believe it. That was not the Thorin she knew.

“Everyone thinks you’re dead,” Dís continued. “He went back to Tharbad to search for you, you know.”

Signí’s heart broke as she imagined Thorin riding around, believing she was gone.

“You see, my brother is getting married next week,” Dís explained, confirming Signí’s worst fears. “I know he doesn’t really want to do this, but he’s doing it for Father and being next in line is, you know… a big responsibility.” 

“I should leave,” Signí said as she rose. She felt completely gutted.

Dís gently tugged her arm.

“At least talk to him before you go,” she said with an imploring look in her eyes. “You two owe each other that much.”

Myrna now reappeared with dresses in hand, but behind her also appeared the same portly dwarf Signí had encountered in the hallway.

“He requests to see her now,” he said sternly.

***

Heart pounding, Signí reached Thorin’s door. It was slightly ajar, and she could see a flickering light that told her a fire was going. She knocked lightly, but there was no response. She drew an anxious breath and pushed it open, revealing the dimly lit room. Thorin’s figure stood near the fireplace. Signí’s anxiety heightened as she realized this was his bedroom. _This is a rather odd place for this_ , she thought.

“Sit,” he directed without looking at her, pointing to his bed.

Awkwardly, she did as instructed and watched while his figure stood staring into the fire, half engulfed in shadow. Her stomach twisted in knots. His silence was excruciating as she sat there, waiting for him to speak. _Can’t he just tell me to leave already?_ she thought. _Just kick me out of the mountains and be done with it._

The fire illuminated his clenched fist, but his face was still turned away from her. Could what Dís said about his temper be true? _’A strain of madness runs in that family…’_ Signí recalled her father’s words and in the dim light Thorin’s figure began to resemble a strange, twisted version of his grandfather. She shifted uncomfortably as she tried to blink away the image, but anxiety began to well up in her chest.

“I should not have come after all,” Signí said softly, almost inaudibly. 

“You should not have…” Thorin replied in a low voice. He now turned around, and to her surprise his face didn’t seem angry at all.

“You should not have come by yourself,” he continued, in a chiding manner.

He stepped away from the fireplace and now kneeled in front of Signí, looking up at her.

“I knew in my heart you were still alive,” he said bitterly. “I came to Tharbad to find you, but clearly I did not search enough. I let everyone else convince me to move on, and now I’ve betrayed you.”

He rested his forehead on her knee, and she ran her fingers through his dark hair. 

“But I’ve failed you,” Signí replied somberly. “I did not come when I should have, and now that I’m finally here, it’s too late.”

“Then we have failed each other,” Thorin responded, looking up from her lap and half-smiling at her. His eyes glittered as they reflected back the flickering fire, and Signí felt as though everything around her was melting away. Myrna, Kamma, even that annoying dwarf in the contracts office… they too were fading into nothing, and all that had happened now seemed like a dream.

Signí ran her fingers down the side of his face, tracing the outline of his jaw through his beard. He kissed her finger lightly as it ran near his mouth, and he suddenly grabbed her hand and stood up. She looked up at him questioningly, and he leaned down into her, pushing her back into the bed.

“Nothing can separate us,” he whispered roughly into her ear. His strong arms surrounded her and he now kissed the side of her neck, sending a chill down her spine. Some of his hair splayed across her face for a moment and his familiar scent instantly conjured memories of their last night together in Tharbad. She wrapped her arms around his strong torso as he leaned over her. How she had missed him!

Signí sighed in pleasure at the feeling of his embrace before reality set in. She quickly sat up and eyed him.

“You’re… not mine anymore,” she said softly. “You wrote out a zarb with her.”

Thorin watched her a moment before taking her hand again.

“Ma agrifadi kurdûh,”** he replied, that mischievous look Signí remembered so well now coming back in his eyes. “And I haven’t signed it yet.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, but this time she sat frozen, too conflicted with emotion. He politely pulled away with a questioning look in his eyes.

She eyed him dubiously, not sure if she could believe him after everything that had happened. After all, thirty-six years had passed between them and they both had changed. She knew he’d never lie to her, but she also didn’t expect to find him about to marry someone else! In any other situation, this would be unforgiveable for a dwarf. Perhaps the only reason she wasn’t entirely furious with him was because she understood the awkward bind he was in. Still, she was angry: at him for the obvious reasons and with herself for waiting so long.

“You do not trust me,” he finally said, standing up and going back near the fireplace.

Signí stayed silent, but Thorin now turned again to face her. His eyes were dark and exuded an anger she had never seen before.

“I have waited years for you,” he said in a low voice. “And now that you’ve come on today of all days, you would throw this away?”

At this, he stormed out of the room, leaving Signí awkwardly alone in his bedroom. After a few minutes, it became clear he wasn’t coming back and she slowly stood up. Could she quietly slip away? She was still wearing that horrid maid’s uniform. If she covered her face somehow she could go unnoticed. She wasn’t sure if anyone outside of the Durin family knew she was here or even who she was… but then again Kamma knew everything and Signí wasn’t quite sure how much power she had or if she’d use it against her in some way.

As she hesitated, something caught her eye. It glimmered in the light of the fire in a way that she had never seen before. It was a small dwarvish axe, crafted for use in just about anything, similar to a human’s pocketknife. The blade was exquisitely sharp and the handle had beautiful carvings of angular, knotted patterns down each side. The material was fantastically light, and Signí realized this must be made of mithril! She had only heard about mithril before, and she wondered how Thorin had managed to get his hands on some.

As she admired the little axe, a voice spoke behind her. It wasn’t deep enough to be Thorin’s, but something about it was strangely familiar. She turned around and realized it was on the other side of the half-open door and her heart pounded. 

She stepped back toward the wall and peered through the crack of the door… it was Thrain! He obviously didn’t know she was there… should she hide? Being found in Thorin’s bedroom would be embarrassing, to be sure. As Signí stood frozen, she realized again she was still wearing that uniform. Maybe she could pretend she was working! But surely Thrain would recognize her as Anvari’s daughter, right? This would be too strange.

Thorin suddenly burst through the door, and Signí scrambled to put the axe back down on the table next to her. She stood awkwardly, hands behind her back.

“Father, this is what I wanted to show you,” Thorin said, giving Signí an odd look at finding her across the room from where he’d left her.

Signí blushed fiercely as Thrain now came closer, eyeing her head to toe. He had aged quite a bit, with his hair having turned almost completely white since the last time she had seen him.

“You wished to show me a housemaid?” he asked his son, confused. So he didn’t recognize her! Signí shifted uncomfortably, wondering what Thorin had up his sleeve.

“This is no maid, Father,” Thorin now smiled. He produced a rolled up scroll of paper.

“This is what I wish to show both of you,” he continued, and he ripped the scroll completely in half.

Signí and Thrain both watched him dumbfoundedly as they realized he had just destroyed the zarb he’d written out with Kamma.

“This is my amrâlimê,” Thorin said, gesturing toward her. “This is Signí, Father.”

Signí winced a little as Thrain now peered at her again, and a look of recognition came over his one eye.

“Anvari’s daughter!” he exclaimed. “I always liked you.” His smile surprised her, for she was certain he and her father hadn’t been on good terms anymore.

She politely bowed her head in response, though she wondered if Kamma knew about any of what had just transpired. 

She had a feeling she was about to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * A zarb is a Dwarven marriage contract, kind of like a prenuptial agreement but there is no possibility of divorce. Divorce is an unknown concept to Dwarves.
> 
> ** "She does not hold my heart," in Khuzdul


	14. Of Kith and Kin (NSFW)

Signí pulled the needle through the shimmery red fabric in a final stitch and knotted the thread. One sleeve done. She was making her wedding robe, and Thorin had arranged for a whole room to be outfitted with whatever she needed for sewing. Putting the pieces of her robe together was like finally taking in a gulp of sweet oxygen after having held her breath for so long. Sitting there for hours gave her time to think. It was lonely though; traditionally her mother should be there to help with such a task. She’d written to her family weeks ago but had yet to receive a response. Of course, she hadn’t wanted to write to them so soon, but Thorin had insisted. She knew he was anxious about her father’s blessing. He was like that: always wanting to do things the right way, the Dwarven way, even though so much of their relationship was out of the norm anyhow.

She never did see Kamma again after that first day. Thorin had protectively sent Signí to stay with Dís until they could smooth things over. She’d certainly heard the stories though. Kamma would have nearly trashed the guest corridor had Myrna not been there to stop her. They had to call the guards in, and Thrain had a special meeting with her father.

“Hell hath no fury like a Dwarven woman scorned,” Signí chuckled to herself.

It was the strangest thing though: after that meeting, Kamma simply up and left for the Iron Hills with little argument. Signí had raised her eyebrow in suspicion, but Thorin pointed out that no one could argue with an azlâf that had begun before anyone had even arrived in Ered Luin. Besides, Thrain had secured a position for her to work in Dain’s wife’s personal staff as compensation, guaranteeing she’d be taken care of for life, so what would she have to complain about?

Signí was glad Kamma was gone, but her thoughts now turned to her own predicament. Rumors swirled around about who she was and just how she knew Thorin. One ridiculous story even accused her of impersonating herself, saying that the real Signí had died in Tharbad. One thing was true though, and that was she had no family here. A dwarrowess without family to claim and protect her might as well not exist, for dwarves eye everything with suspicion, even themselves. That’s not to say anyone was mean to her though; they just didn’t really know what to do with her. Here she was, consort of Prince Thorin and estranged from a family who proved to be disloyal to Thrain. And as much as she hated to admit it, she needed her father’s blessing if she wanted to stay here, because that was how Dwarven society worked.

Realizing how late the evening had grown, Signí tidied her sewing and looked around the room. Thorin was probably wondering where she was.

The corridor had only a few torches lit, making it hard to see. Signí was grateful however, for it decreased her chances of being caught. She tiptoed past the portraits she’d seen her first day here in the Blue Mountains and the one of the three Durin children caught here eye for a moment. She smiled at the thought of one day having her own dwarflings pictured on that wall. 

She crept down the hall, careful to not make any noise as she passed the servants’ rooms. She knew Myrna and Fen were probably in for the night, but she didn’t want to have to explain herself if she were seen here.

Thorin’s door was cracked and Signí heard soft, melodic strumming coming from within. She pushed the heavy door just enough to slip inside and watched him a moment. 

Clad in only shorts, Thorin’s hands masterfully swept across the strings of his harp. His dark locks tumbled down over his bare shoulders and his eyes were radiant as he sat completely absorbed in the tune. It was soft and bittersweet, and was one Signí knew to be very old. She’d only heard it a few times before, but in that moment Thorin looked as though he could have been some ancient ancestor playing it thousands of years ago somewhere in Moria.

The tune ended and he looked up and smiled at her. She sat nearby on his bed.

“Has word come back from the Iron Hills yet?” he asked, now moving from his chair to join her. His hands trailed playfully down her lower back.

“Not yet,” she smiled as she kissed him. _Does it really matter right now?_ she thought to herself. She’d been sneaking into his bedroom like this and spending the night for a few weeks now. Of course, Dwarven tradition would frown upon that until they were actually married, but then again, an azlâf didn’t usually last thirty-six long years as theirs had. 

“I have a reputation to protect,” he jokingly scolded her. “I can’t be having illegitimate affairs, you know.” He now returned her kiss more ardently.

Signí smiled back coyly and wrapped her arms around him, bringing a hand up to run her fingers through the waves of his hair.

“And you take too much of my time for you not to be my queen,” he continued in her ear. His joking tone came out harsher this time and betrayed a sense of need in his voice as his hands now wandered up her skirt.

His rough beard and soft lips trailed down the side of her neck and her own desire welled, pooling in an internal heat radiating through her torso and between her thighs. 

Thorin untied the back of her robe and swept it up over her head in one motion. His hands squeezed the soft flesh of her butt harder as he pulled her even closer and pressed her body against his, and Signí gasped in desire. She could feel the heat of his hard length through the light fabric of his shorts up against her inner thigh now, driving her mad.

His fingers traced the soft curve of her hip and slid her underwear down. Signí coyly smiled and returned the favor, though he pulled her back away from him with strong hands. She frowned.

Smirking and sensing her frustration, he drew a thick thumb over her sensitive spot, flicking in gentle circles. His eyes were dark with lust as they traveled across her body, taking in the soft curves of her breasts and the dip of her waist. His gaze trailed up to meet hers and in that moment nothing else existed in his world but her.

Feeling her own pleasure beginning to heighten, Signí stroked a finger down his hard cock before wrapping her hand around his girth. At this, he softly groaned and moved his thumb to press lightly at her opening and feel her wetness before pulling his hand away altogether. She whimpered in protest.

“Khufudzu,”* he teased softly as he sat up and leaned over her, his strong arms pushing against the pillows behind her head.

Signí ran her fingers over his chest and traced the trail of soft hair that traveled down his abdomen. Before she could go any further, he grabbed her hand and pinned it above her head and smirked as he leaned in and kissed her deeply.

Pulling back, Thorin looked into her eyes as he leaned over her, waiting for her cue. She rolled her eyes and smirked back at him. He loved the illusion of being totally in control, though he’d never do anything against her wishes.

“Ma abbîthi zu,”** he said roughly into her ear as he entered her. 

The smirk disappeared from Signí’s face as his thickness filled her, his thrusts starting slow at first. As his pace quickened, his finger trailed back down to that same sweet spot as before.

Feeling her own pleasure beginning to rise, Signí moaned before bashfully covering her mouth in a small laugh. She suddenly imagined everyone in the halls around them knew what they were doing.

“Let them hear,” Thorin whispered gruffly, seemingly reading her mind. “Let them know how you’re mine.”

At this, she locked her fingers into his and pushed him over onto his back, so now she was riding him. He smirked and let out a pleased groan as she held his hands down, rendering him helpless to the way she was moving on him.

That same feeling now came over her again, intensifying as it rose through her pelvis and outward, soft and warm and filled with need.

Sensing her pleasure welling, Thorin thrust his head back into the pillow with eyes squeezed shut, fighting away his own release.

The warm, soft feeling now gave into its own urgency for Signí, and waves of divine crashed through her body in glittering stars as her muscles tightened around him. Sensing her gratification and unable to contain himself any longer, Thorin reached his own climax and a gasp of pleasure escaped from his mouth, adding to the chorus of moans emanating from Signí.

She leaned in and rested her forehead against his and laughed as she fell into him. He chuckled back as he wrapped his arms around her, and they both drifted to sleep to the sound of their breaths.

***

Thorin sighed contentedly and ran his fingers through Signí’s hair, twisting one of her small braids around his forefinger. Morning sunlight poured in through the half-open window on the other side of the room and a strip of brightness extended across the floor. A small gust of crisp air made its way to the bed, reminding Signí of how much cooler the air was up in the mountains compared to summertime back in Tharbad.

She stretched her legs out under the blankets and leaned back into Thorin’s bare chest. His arms enveloped her as he affectionately nuzzled his nose in her hair.

Signí now rolled over to fully face him. His hands had wandered down to her ass and his fingers traced the soft skin where cheek met thigh and she could feel him growing hard again against her hip. His desire for her was insatiable. 

They suddenly heard a knock on the door and Signí scrambled to hide under the blankets while Thorin frantically jumped from the bed and searched for something to cover his naked body with.

“Thorin?” came Thrain’s voice. This was rather odd, as his father seldom came knocking on his door, especially first thing in the morning.

Finally finding his shorts, Thorin nearly tripped as he simultaneously hobbled towards the knocking while pulling up the fabric waistband before his father began to open the door.

“Can I not have any privacy around here?” Thorin said, agitated.

His father’s face was solemn.

“Anvari arrived this morning,” Thrain said to his son.

“Anvari?” Thorin replied, surprised. “He never responded to Signí’s letter.”

Signí froze under the blankets at the mention of her father’s name. A lump began to form in the pit of her stomach, as she knew his silence was not a good sign.

Uneasy, Thorin shifted and looked questioningly at his father.

“We’ll meet for lunch,” Thrain said grimly. “I’ll send Fen to let Signí know-“

“That- that won’t be necessary,” Thorin interjected awkwardly. “I’ll speak to her myself.”

Thrain looked at his son for a moment before feebly reaching up to pat his shoulder and nod before walking away.

***

Signí nervously clutched Thorin’s arm as they made their way down the hall. It had now been five hours since Thrain had knocked on Thorin’s door, and in that time Signí had gone to her room to freshen up and wait. She assumed her family would at least want to see her, but no one showed and she didn’t feel like finding Myrna to inquire about them. Besides, she suspected Myrna was part of the gossip mill and Signí didn’t want to supply her with even more information.

“Did my mother come?” she asked Thorin. 

It was all so bizarre… she half-expected her father not to want to see her after their horrible blowout, but her mother and Alfí not visiting was a shock. It was actually pretty upsetting, since it seemed her mother at least was on her side… until now. 

“Father didn’t say,” he replied, looking down the corridor ahead. Signí could tell from his flat tone that he was quelling any kind of emotion that might spring from this whole situation. They both were familiar with Anvari’s temperament and they both knew he disapproved of them being together. For Thorin, this was beginning to feel like a repeat of the day they left Tharbad.

They walked in silence down the remainder of the hall. Their footsteps slowed as they turned the last corner, for their destination was just through the double doors ahead. Thorin suddenly turned and put his hands on Signí’s face, his eyes tender and full of sadness.

“Zâyungi zu sandarûn…” he whispered. “Tur nê kulhu hunûk.”***

He turned and approached the door, opening it for her. Her father and Thrain were sitting across from each other, looking as though they were both annoyed and relieved at being interrupted from some important discussion.

The room was small and simply held a heavy table with some chairs. A tapestry adorned with ancient Dwarven motifs hung on one wall, while a sconce large enough to hold several candles provided light from the opposite wall.

Signí seated herself as her father’s cold green eyes watched her, then darted suspiciously toward Thorin. She wondered why her mother wasn’t there.

A dwarf suddenly entered, serving plates of meat and root vegetables before each of them and Thrain cleared his throat.

“We were just discussing,” he began. “How the iron trade deal has been going for Dain – men can’t get enough!” He chuckled, but no one else laughed.

“I suppose… they don’t call it the Iron Hills for nothing,” Thrain continued, now mostly mumbling to himself, as the awkward vibe in the room became even more obvious.

Signí and Thorin both picked at their food and glanced at Thrain and Anvari. 

Anvari cleared his throat and impatiently put his fork down, looking at Thrain in anticipation. Thorin shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, we all know why we’re here, yes?” Thrain feigned a cheerful tone, but grew more serious. “We have a sum ready, if you’re willing to give your blessing.”

Anvari’s icy stare went from Thrain to Signí, and then back to Thrain again.

“I have no blessing to give,” he replied coldly and now looked to Signí. “My daughter ran away from home and died.”

Eyes widened, Thorin looked at his father who then looked back to Anvari, confused.

“Is this not Signí? Is she not alive?” Thrain asked, almost rhetorically. He now stood up and any mildness to his demeanor washed away as he spoke in a low tone. “I have seen my son happy for the first time in years. Be done with her and never speak to her again if that’s what you want, but in Mahal’s name give your blessing!”

Anvari now rose and squinted at Thrain. His fists were clenched.

“Your happy son is already in azlâf with someone else,” he said through gritted teeth.

Now it was Thorin who stood up angrily.

“I did not sign anything with her,” Thorin said, now looking to his father for reinforcement.

“Azlâf is made in word…” Anvari growled back. “…or deed.”

Thrain, Thorin and Signí now stared back at Anvari, confused.

“Deed?” Thorin asked, a panicked tone in his voice.

“Perhaps you should ask Kamma about it,” Anvari shot back.

Horrified, Signí stared back in shock for a moment. This was all too much and soon she found herself dashing through the double doors behind her.

Out in the hallway, Signí slumped to her knees against the wall. Was this some twisted plan of Kamma’s for revenge, or had Thorin really lied to her? Nothing was making any sense. _And my father has disowned me…_ she thought to herself. She couldn’t believe how her family had abandoned her! Where were her mother and brother? Dwarves do not forsake their kin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Have patience," in Khuzdul
> 
> ** "I cannot deny you," in Khuzdul
> 
> *** "I will always love you, no matter what happens," in Khuzdul


	15. Abkân (The Awakening)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: I consulted Dwarrow Scholar's writeup of dwarven marriage  
> https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/2013/04/11/whos-the-bride-dwarven-marriage/

Still slumped against the cold stone wall, Signí could hear Thorin and Thrain arguing with Anvari from inside the room.

Dazed, she slowly stood up and began to make her way down the corridor. She wasn’t sure what she would do now… she couldn’t stay here and the Iron Hills obviously didn’t seem like a good choice either. As she continued on, she realized the walls around her no longer looked familiar and she tried to figure out where she’d made a wrong turn. She thought she heard footsteps behind her, but it was too hard to make anything out as she squinted into the dim light. She backtracked and turned down another hallway, but soon realized she was now really lost.

The footsteps grew louder and she backed into a darkened crevice in the cracked wall and froze, hoping they’d pass her by. They stopped too.

Raspy breathing now accompanied the thump of her heart beating in her ears and she slowly turned to see the angry, contorted face of Kamma with an axe raised to strike her!

 

Signí woke with a start, her heart pounding out of her chest. The warm bed and soft, dark space around her stood in stark contrast to her nightmare. The same raspy breathing from her dream emanated next to her and she realized she’d been hearing Thorin’s snoring all along.

She rubbed her eyes as she came back into reality. Everything in her dream was so vivid, and yet made no sense. How would Kamma even know her father? And what’s more, as much as her father had a temper, he would never disown his daughter, right?

She quietly stepped out of the bed and made her way to the window and peered out into the darkened landscape outside. The moon was behind clouds and only a faint outline of the barely-illumined mountain peaks around her was visible.

_What’s wrong with me?_ she thought to herself. Perhaps her fears were getting the best of her. Did she really doubt Thorin’s love for her in some way? He would be so hurt if he ever found out. Perhaps it was his unfailing love for her that terrified her most. She knew he felt immense guilt over even entertaining the notion of marrying someone else, though technically he’d never actually broken his loyalty to her.

The air near the window suddenly felt chilly and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. She looked back at Thorin sleeping in the bed. He and his father had put so much hard work into building a new home here for their people. She felt ashamed at all of the time she took in dragging her feet to be with him, and here he so readily wanted to share it all with her despite it.  
Her thoughts turned to her family, and she wondered if they’d gotten her letter. Surely they’d be happy to know she was in fact alive, right? Her father really had no reason anymore to not give his blessing, and besides that, she knew there was no way he’d turn down any sum offered to him from the Durins. Signí smirked cynically. If there was anything Anvari loved more than his work, it was money.

A shiver came over her once more and she tiptoed back to the bed. Thorin stirred as she leaned back into her pillow. 

“Is everything all right?” he whispered, still half asleep.

“Just- just a dream,” Signí whispered back. “It’s nothing.”

He reached across her body in a lazy embrace and half-smiled, his eyes closed. Her gaze traced the outline of his bare arm over her, across the muscular curve of his shoulder and landed on his now sleeping-again face. _Of course you would never lie to me…_

***

Exactly a week later, Signí was returning from Dís’ place when she found a note on her door. Her family had arrived in the Blue Mountains and they wanted to see her right away. Thrain had put them in the guest corridor.

Filled with a mix of excitement and anxiety, she made her way down the hall. Would her father be angry with her for running away? Had Alfi and her mother come too? Walking through this part of the halls brought her back to when she had first arrived and met Kamma and she shuddered. _Hopefully this meeting will be a better one_ , she thought to herself.

She reached the open doorway and peered cautiously inside. Her mother was sitting by herself, reading a book.

“Mama?” Signí finally managed to squeak out. Her mother looked up from the page and smiled enormously, tears welling in her eyes. She wrapped her daughter in her arms and squeezed.

“My sweet girl,” she said, loosening her grip to wipe a tear from her cheek. “We left the Iron Hills as soon as your letter came; we couldn’t waste any more time waiting between replies if we wrote back! Alfí is exploring the halls and your father is visiting Nror, remember him? Oh, it doesn’t matter anyway, you’re alive! We thought you were… well, that doesn’t even matter now either!”

Signí told her mother all about the elves and Wendar, and how she managed to get into Ered Luin. She hesitated when she mentioned Thorin’s name, but her mother gave her a knowing look. In that moment, she turned to see Alfí arrive with Thorin behind him, and the boy excitedly ran up to hug her.

“He was showing me the forge!” Alfí exclaimed. “It’s way bigger than the one back home… I mean, in Tharbad. And I met Dwalin, he’s a warrior!”

Thorin chuckled at the dwarfling’s enthusiasm before his expression suddenly changed. Anvari had now slipped into the room too, quietly brooding.

“Your father has something he’d like to say to you,” her mother said gently to Signí, glancing from her to Anvari.

Her father grunted in response and looked away.

“I – I should leave,” Thorin mumbled as he began to back away into the doorway.

“Stay,” Anvari replied, now sheepishly turning around. He looked at Signí, who nervously picked at her thumbnail and then glanced at Thorin.

“I have been too hard on you,” he said softly to his daughter. “You left with no protection from me, and for that I am sorry.”

Signí looked down at her feet as she fought back tears. She’d never heard her father apologize to anyone before. She realized how her having run away must have been a huge blow to him, for it meant that he had failed in one of the most fundamental duties a dwarven father has: guarding his daughter from harm.

“And you,” Anvari now addressed Thorin. “I have misjudged you. I can only hope you will safeguard her better than I have.”

Stunned at his words, Thorin politely bowed. Before he could say anything in response though, Anvari abruptly left the room.

***

Anvari raised the hammer once more into the air as Signí and Thorin faced each other for the first time in two weeks. The wedding ceremony was nearly half over. They had stood side by side in anxious anticipation while her father read the many pages of their zarb and then during the long series of blessings too. Now was the part where they would be eternally joined.

Signí nervously took his outstretched hand and gazed up at his face. He smiled back, his eyes a deep blue with tenderness.

Thrain read the vow. 

“In my Halls you will find a house, and in your heart I will find a home,” Thorin repeated to Signí after his father.

“In your Halls I will find a house, and in my heart you will find a home,” Signí replied.

Thrain handed them each their rings, and Thorin softly chuckled as he nearly dropped it while slipping it on Signí’s finger. It was beautifully adorned with a motif of Thorin’s royal symbol surrounded by the seal of the House of Durin.*

Signí now took the plain band for Thorin and slid it upon his middle finger. Thorin looked down at his hand and grinned before looking up at her again. **

Beaming, King Thrain now took the first pint of the marriage-ale and handed it to Thorin. He took the first sip and then, upon offering it to Signí, he turned to face the crowd and cheers erupted from all sides. They were finally married, joined together as one, and the whole world knew it.

~Later that afternoon~

“Hurry up, you can’t miss the announcement!” Dís called from the hallway.

Signí had run up to her room to change out of her ceremonial robe and into a gown for the feast. This one was a dark, royal blue that matched Thorin’s robe and was made for dancing.

“Tie me?” she yelled out to Dís, who came back with an impatient smile and secured the back of her new sister-in-law’s dress.

“Now, let’s go!” Dís said, and she started back down the hall.

Signí hesitated and checked her hair once more in the mirror before she too left to catch up with Dís. The smell of food and ale and boisterous socializing accosted their senses as the dwarf women reached the feast.

Thrain was supposed to be there to announce bride and groom and to permit everyone to finally eat, but they were met with only Thorin. He shrugged in response to their questioning looks.

“Balin could do it… Dís, will you get him?” Thorin asked.

Dís nodded and disappeared into the busy hall. Signí turned to Thorin, who smiled and kissed her cheek. 

“You are beautiful,” he said to her as he delicately ran a finger over one of her braids.

She looked down and realized in her haste to change her clothes, she’d forgotten to put her ring back on!

“I’ll be right back,” she said, blushing as she showed Thorin her bare finger. Before he could protest, she left down the corridor in a hurry. She figured it would take Dís a little while to find Balin anyway, since everyone seemed to still be drinking and mingling.

She reached her room, grabbed the ring off the ledge of the mirror and dashed back out in the hallway. As she rounded the corner, something caught her eye. Soft light emanated from one of the empty guest rooms. _What is Myrna doing here still?_ she thought. _She was supposed to take the day off._

“You don’t have to-“ Signí began as she peeked in the doorway, but stopped short as she recognized Thrain furiously pacing back and forth in the room, talking to… something. He abruptly stopped and Signí froze. She opened her mouth to mention the feast starting soon, but he suddenly kneeled down with a crazed expression upon his face, completely unaware of her presence.

“They will bow down to her radiant light…” he said in a strange, trance-like voice, staring and conversing with some kind of small object in his hand. “and she’ll be mine at last!”

Utterly weirded out, Signí slowly retreated into the hallway again and began to make her way back towards Thorin. What was he holding in his hand? He was married of course… who was this ‘she’ he was talking about? She wondered if Thorin or Dís knew anything about this.

She approached the feast and was greeted by an impatient Thorin who quickly ushered her into the now loudly cheering hall. Balin was beginning some kind of speech and Thorin turned to her.

“I was afraid you might have gotten lost,” he whispered, cracking a half-smile.

“I saw your father…” she began, but he didn’t seem to hear her as Balin now turned to the newlyweds and the guests cheered.

***

The evening was growing late and Signí was feeling sapped. Aside from eating dinner next to him, she’d barely seen Thorin all night. Instead, she’d conversed with aunts and uncles and cousins and neighbors and family friends she never knew she had, nevermind all of the same for Thorin’s side too. She felt as though she could go to bed and sleep for a year. Dís had warned her this would happen, as weddings were this way, and tonight was only the beginning! They still had six more days to go.

Signí scanned the room until her eyes fell on Thorin. He was hanging out with Dwalin, Balin and Bremir at a half-empty table. She watched them for a moment and swore she felt Frerin’s presence there too, laughing and drinking along with them. Dwalin now slapped Thorin’s shoulder while another burst of laughter emanated from them as they chanted something in Khuzdul, some kind of inside joke.

She waited until there seemed to be a lull in their conversation and she made her move. She wanted to at least say goodnight. Thorin didn’t notice her until Bremir poked him, and he stood up apologetically.

“I’m spent,” she said, taking his hands. This would be the last time she’d see him until tomorrow, for custom did not permit them to spend the night until the seventh day of celebrations. Never mind they had already been together of course, but Thorin wanted to keep with tradition.

“Signí… Thorin,” Anvari’s voice came from behind her unexpectedly and awkwardly. He handed them something small and wrapped in fabric. “A small gift, from your mother and me.”

Thorin unrolled the cloth and revealed it to be the pipe they had snuck between them so long ago! Wide-eyed, Signí looked back at her father. He gave her a rogue smile and shook his head in amusement. His face grew serious and he now addressed Thorin. 

“Our family is of humble origin, but this pipe was carved by my great-grandfather in Khazad-dûm nearly six-hundred years ago,” he said. Thorin looked down at the pipe in awe, for as much as his family had roots to Moria, very few physical objects had ever been saved. To him, this was now a relic that represented a home even before Erebor; the true and forever lost home of his ancestors.

“And may your children one day sneak this from you,” Anvari teased them, smirking again as he walked away.

***

Thorin lifted Signí and draped her over his shoulder as they both laughed uncontrollably.

“And this is where I carry you into the Halls I have delved!” he exclaimed.

“I don’t think you have to be so literal about it…” Signí giggled in reply.

They had officially said their goodbyes to all the guests and it had now been three weeks since he had banned her from stepping foot in his apartments. He reached his door and carefully set her down.

“Now you will see what I have been doing while you were away,” he said softly in her ear, standing behind her.

He pushed the door open and together they stepped inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Signí's adorned ring represents that she now belongs to Thorin's clan, (where he says she will find a house with him in the wedding vow).
> 
> **Thorin's plain ring represents how his home is in her heart, which would not necessarily be completely visible to those outside their relationship (hence lack of adornments), as it would be a personal thing between them, and also because dwarven women generally stay hidden from the rest of the world. I also like to think the plain ring that Thorin wears in the movies is indeed his wedding ring, because even if he might have lost his wife at some point, he'd continue to wear it as dwarven marriage transcends death.


	16. Unrest

~T.A. 2841~

Thorin struck the red-orange glow against the anvil as fiery sparks lit into the air around him. He’d been working in the forge all afternoon.

“Almost done?” Dwalin’s voice came from behind. He had nearly forgotten he was supposed to meet his friend for a pint.

“Aye,” Thorin replied. He hammered two more times and set everything down. Finishing would have to wait for tomorrow.

He followed Dwalin out into the corridor without any further word. Thorin hoped Signí remembered he wouldn’t be coming back home right away. He often went for a pint, but this had been an especially long day and Dwalin kind of threw this on him at the last minute.

Though Thorin considered both brothers Dwalin and Balin to be among his closest friends, they were actually his distant cousins. They too were descended from the line of Durin, only their ancestor had been some younger brother to Thorin’s ancestor, and thus the crown had passed them over generations ago.

Dwalin was the taller of the two siblings, and proudly so. His mohawk only added to his height, and when he walked next to Thorin it almost looked as though they could be brothers from behind. The Durin genes were strong between the two of them. He’d spent many years training in the art of wielding the war hammer and had recently taken up the dagger along with various axes.

“Bremir’s got some new ale he wants us all to taste,” Dwalin explained as they took a turn that led away from their usual drinking spot.

“Where does Bremir find the time to brew a new ale?” Thorin asked suspiciously. Things had been crazy ever since the miners had hit a new spot of silver deep within the mountains a few weeks ago. Someone had crafted a diningware set to toss in the export pile and when one of the merchants sold it at a market in Hobbiton, that was it. The demand for fancy kettles, tea sets and more soared. Never to be ones to pass up a moneymaking opportunity, the dwarves worked around the clock. Some lamented that they were degrading themselves in this deviation from more respectable crafts like axes and fine jewelry, but Thorin believed an honest living was made by hard work no matter the product. They weren’t in Erebor anymore, and if having come this far from homelessness in Dunland meant crafting serving platters, then so be it. And like the true leader he was, he could be found working in the forge alongside everyone else.

“Aye, the guy’s got to take a break once in a while,” Dwalin replied with a half-smile. Thorin’s tenacity amused him sometimes. “You’ll like it… he got some raspberries in from Swanfleet.”

“So it is a wine?“ Thorin scoffed. Wine was of course, the drink of elves.

Dwalin chuckled and they arrived at Dís’ and Bremir’s door. Their residence was on the opposite side from Thorin’s rooms in that particular mountain peak, and its large, airy windows faced east, out over Eriador with a view of Ered Luin’s northern peaks if one stuck their head out the window far enough. The corridors on this side were carved out and decorated in a fashion they all knew to be very, very old, and they wondered if these were among the ancient halls of Naugladur, ruler of Tumunzahar from the First Age.

Balin opened the door and bowed, laughing. He’d obviously been drinking some of Bremir’s ale already.

“Aye lads!” he gave a hearty smile as he held the door open. 

Thorin took a seat in the sitting room while Dwalin hovered near a corner, playfully flicking a dagger around in his hand, coming dangerously close to the fine, embroidered fabric of a curtain nearby. Dís appeared momentarily, nodded to Thorin and then glared at Dwalin, who sheepishly put the knife away.

A cold pint suddenly landed in Thorin’s hands and Bremir pulled a chair near and sat in it. Thorin took a swig, pleasantly surprised by its subtle fruity flavor.

“Well?” Bremir eagerly smiled. He’d learned the art of brewing during his years working in Swanfleet and had gained a bit of a reputation here. Sometimes the ales were fantastic, and sometimes they weren’t, though his schoolboyish charm seemed to sway nearly anyone who tried his drinks into saying they liked it.

Thorin shook his head and chuckled.

“I am sure those in the Grey Havens might like it,” he replied teasingly, to which Bremir playfully punched him in the shoulder.

“I see you’ve nearly finished, so it can’t be that bad!” Bremir shot back.

Dwalin and Balin soon joined, and they all sat around drinking for a while. At one point, Dís appeared in the doorway again and watched. Bremir beckoned her to join, but she shook her head and Thorin noticed that she nervously wrung her hands.

Was something wrong? Thorin set his pint down and now soberly looked around the room. Dwalin and Bremir were still laughing and carrying on about something that happened in the forge that day, but Balin flashed a look to Dís and cleared his throat.

“Now that we’ve ah… ah, all had a chance to unwind…” he began. Where Dwalin was tall, handsome and brawny, Balin was cunning and intuitive. He always seemed to know how to fix something, and even when he couldn’t, he wasn’t afraid to say what others only thought.

Thorin shifted in his chair and watched the dwarf intently.

“There’s talk of going to back to Erebor,” Balin revealed. 

The room was quiet. Thorin studied Balin for a moment, and then glanced at Bremir and Dwalin. They all seemed to be waiting on his response. The Lonely Mountain? There was nothing about going back there that he had heard of.

“If there are some who do not wish to be here, let them leave,” he responded. “I have worked hard to make this place a home where our people have had none.”

Balin now glanced at Dwalin and back at Thorin.

“But it is dangerous,” Bremir now spoke up.

“Aye, and why do you listen to such talk? The dragon lies in wait; it is nonsense talk,” Thorin replied. He was beginning to grow agitated now. Dwarves chattered every day about things, and if Erebor was one of them, no one was holding them back if they wanted to leave. This whole thing seemed ridiculous.

Dwalin, Balin and Bremir all shifted uncomfortably in their seats, glancing at one another. This was irritating to Thorin. Since when were his friends ones to take silly rumors and chatter so seriously?

“I’m afraid you don’t understand.” Balin said, turning to Thorin. “Your father is not well.”

The words stung him. _So that is what this is all about_ , he thought to himself. His father had grown considerably in old age. He had noticed a few odd things, but he refused to believe it. His grandfather had lost his mind to dragon-sickness, but his father… his father was different.

“My father is merely an old dwarf, and he is content to live here,” Thorin said finally.

“He doesn’t know what year it is anymore,” Bremir said gently. 

Thorin slammed his pint glass down on the coffee table and glared at his brother-in-law. He wasn’t going to stand for this.

“He’s a danger to himself,” Dís’ voice cut in. Small tears had formed in her eyes. Thorin’s expression changed at her words, and instances of his father’s increasingly weird behavior flooded his mind. He often went on tirades to seemingly no one but himself, talking to the ring he’d inherited from Thror and obsessing over the lost Arkenstone. His poor mother now kept constant watch on her husband, rarely keeping up with any kind of social engagements anymore. His fits of madness were unpredictable and could be triggered at any time.

It was true, Thrain had been rambling on about the lost wealth of Erebor more and more lately, and it was in a manner disturbingly similar to the way his grandfather had done. But Thorin didn’t want to believe his father was actually capable of going. He’d already watched his grandfather disintegrate into senility and wander to his own death in Moria, and he just couldn’t deal with seeing that all over again in his father. Thrain didn’t deserve this. Everything he and Thorin had worked for over the years was to create a home, a safe haven for their race, though Thorin now found himself taking on more and more responsibilities to protect his father’s reputation. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to see any kind of weakness in the old dwarf king, either within the dwarven community or the outside world.

Thrain was still king after all, no matter if Thorin was basically taking care of everything. All his father had to do was publicly declare an expedition and those willing would follow. Though Thrain’s fits were whispered about, by all accounts he was still in charge and the façade the Durin family had kept up only underscored it. He realized now that this tactic of saving face had only set his family up for disaster.

He thought of Anvari’s initial objections back in Tharbad. Signí had wanted to spare him the hurt and had denied it of course, but Thorin knew his father-in-law was keenly aware of the mental issues that plagued his family. Perhaps his refusal to see his father’s sickness now was his way of denying it could ever happen to him someday.

“The guards have already stopped him from leaving,” Balin’s voice brought Thorin back to the present. “Last week, you know.”

Thorin clenched his fists in embarrassment at the gossip that must have spurred. He looked down, processing it all and his eyes exuded sadness as the harsh reality set in. It was obvious that he could no longer protect his father from public scrutiny, but he could protect him from harming himself.

“Then we must go,” he said finally, to the widened eyes staring back at him. “I will go, that is. We leave next week. He will see for himself that entering is not possible, and we will return home.”

“You can’t go,” Dís interjected. “Who will run this place? It is too dangerous to risk your life.”

“It is my obligation,” he replied somberly. “Who will protect him?”

“I will go too,” Dwalin stood up and put his hand out in front of him in a pledge, and Bremir and Balin drew their hands forth as well.

***

Thorin slowly opened the door to the home he shared with Signí, expecting to find her at her sewing machine. To his surprise, everything was quiet and dark, save for one candle burning in the parlor. The whole walk through the corridors he’d rehearsed in his mind how he would tell her of this Erebor business, and now here she was nowhere to be found.

He took the candle for light and made his way to the bedroom. She was sleeping. It wasn’t all that late, but he’d noticed she had been going to bed earlier than usual lately. She too had been working a lot though. He watched her a moment and guilt washed over him. How he wished in another world she wouldn’t have to work so much! They lived more comfortably than they had ever known in Tharbad, but it was a comfort that was earned. She preferred to work anyway; she possessed her father’s business acumen and love of sewing. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how different things would be if they still lived in Erebor. Erebor. The name rung out in his mind like the clang of a bell. It echoed and faded, and yet still sat there, like an ugly face staring back at him in defiance. He'd long given up any hope of returning, and his father's increasing obsession over the lost gold only served to dig up the bad feelings he had finally learned to push out of his mind.

He set the candle down on the nightstand and quickly undressed to his shorts and climbed into the bed. He was tired too, and that sweet ale didn’t help. He ran his finger through a dark lock of hair that fallen across her shoulder. She smelled sweet and he kissed the exposed skin of her neck.

She stirred and opened her eyes, smiling.

“You’re back so soon?” she said softly, playfully squeezing his arm and he smiled back. “How is Dwalin?”

Thorin’s smile faded and he turned on his back and looked up at the ceiling. Sensing his mood, Signí propped herself up on her elbow and studied him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He stayed silent for a moment and then sighed.

“It was no merry drinking,” he said quietly. 

She watched him for a few more moments with concern growing in her eyes.

“My father talks of going to Erebor,” he continued dourly, still looking at the ceiling.

Signí sat up in the bed. She was quite aware of the dangers of this kind of quest and he didn’t even have to say it: she knew he’d never let his father go alone. Thorin mentally braced himself for her to be upset, but she remained quiet. He turned his head to face her, and she was staring off across the dark room.

“You are not angry?” he asked softly. 

She flashed him a look that instantly drew a small pang of remorse in him. She had tried to mention her concerns a few times before and he’d only blown her off each time. Though Thrain’s erratic behavior seemed to start about the time Frerin died, it had gotten much worse since their wedding feast when he forgot to show up to make the beginning toasts.

"You had better come back," she said softly, worried. Thorin and Bremir both travelled periodically, so leaving like this wasn't exactly out of the norm, but then again, this was quite different from the routine trip to Swanfleet or Bree or even the Iron Hills. This was much farther. "And the dragon is still there..." she said aloud.

"We have no plans to enter the mountain," he replied, forcing his voice to sound confident. "There is no way to enter."

He wrapped his arms around her reassuringly, though their anxiety was palpable. The day Thrain would want to return to the mountain was inevitable, and Thorin realized in that moment that she had known it all along too.

“Do you remember that stranger, at our wedding?” Signí whispered. Her voice was dark and a chill came over Thorin as he recalled the cloaked figure that had appeared on the third day of the celebrations. At first they had paid no mind to him, thinking he was a guest who had simply arrived late, and his presence was easily drowned out by the boisterous drinking and dancing going on around them. It was peculiar though, for as soon as they began to take notice of him, he left as quietly and quickly as he had come.

“He had no beard,” Thorin remarked. He had been dressed like a dwarf and was similarly of short stature, but he was obviously not from around there. Balin had found the stranger watching Thrain with special interest, but by the time he summoned a guard, the stranger was nowhere to be seen.

***

Thorin packed the last of the supplies into a bag and put it with the rest of their things. They’d be leaving tomorrow morning.

“I still don’t want you to come,” Thrain said to his son, eyeing him suspiciously. “You don’t think this old man can protect himself?”

“I am joining the expedition you are calling for, Father,” Thorin replied patiently. He’d heard reports that morning of orcs being sighted in Dunland again, with a loose warg having been shot down near Swanfleet. 

“You must keep your post here, and protect what we have!” Thrain insisted, his voice rising. Thorin bristled at his father’s newfound need for caution now, since the whole idea of going to the Lonely Mountain was anything but.

Thrain leaned into his son and grabbed his arm with a shaky hand. His remaining piercing blue eye blazed with fervor. Thorin feared his father might slip into another bout of insanity.

“You cannot come,” his father said darkly. “We are being watched. You do not understand and I cannot lose you like I lost Frerin.”

Thorin’s eyes burned at the mention of his brother. The memory of how he died came flooding back and stabbed him in the heart. Frerin, his baby brother. He had failed to protect him that day. And now his father was surely marching to his own death and he’d fail to protect him too, if he was forbidden from coming like this.

Dís appeared with their mother in the doorway. They both looked exhausted and worried. Thorin saw Dís’ questioning look in her eyes and he briskly walked past her to leave.

“The ramblings of a madman,” he muttered under his breath as he passed his sister by, audible only to her.


	17. Farewell Again

Signí hurried back through the main corridor from her appointment. Thorin would be leaving the next morning with the rest of the group, and it worried her sick. She didn’t like the idea of all of them leaving like this, but Thorin had always regretted the way his grandfather had wandered off: with only one companion and no one to protect them or talk any kind of sense into him.

Taking this route led through the market, and she reached a bakery stall and stopped. A stocky dwarrowess smiled kindly.

“Two sourdough,” Signí smiled back. Thorin’s favorite. She’d put them in his bag to take along for tomorrow.

“Just a few minutes,” the lady-dwarf replied. “Popular today!”

Signí stepped back to wait and her mind wandered to earlier that morning. “About ten weeks!” the midwife’s voice echoed in her mind. 

Of course she couldn’t believe it. _Thorin would be so happy…_ she thought, and a vague smile came over her as she imagined telling him the news.

Except he was leaving tomorrow. 

Her smile faded. This had to be the worst timing. A trip like this would take at least five, six months with ponies and camping along the way. Of course, that was assuming they didn’t run into any trouble and the roads were clear. 

“All ready!” the dwarrowess chirped. The sticky heat of the fresh loaves landing in her hands brought Signí back to reality.

She crossed over the walkway that looked down over the loading docks. The smell of barrels of fish having been transported from Lond Daer made her sick. She quickened her pace for a moment, but then a commotion below caught her attention.

“Mahumb!”* a voice yelled out. It was one she instantly recognized. A door slammed and Thorin briskly scaled the stairs below and disappeared through another doorway. _What in Mahal’s name…_ she thought, as the slammed door now opened and Dís appeared with a bewildered look on her face.

Signí reached the end of the walkway and turned down a set of stairs to her right, hoping they’d lead her in the direction Thorin had gone. They did, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, the room was connected to another corridor at the other side, into which she stepped. The walls and floor were dirty and the air tickled her throat. As she quickened her pace, she realized it must lead to the forge. Hot air and pockets of brightness accosted her senses as she neared, and sounds of hammering and carving erupted all around her. 

Awkwardly, she stepped into the chaos and tried to make sense of her surroundings. She felt silly at being a dwarf and never having been in a forge before, but she didn’t come from a blacksmith family and she never had a reason to go until now.

She scanned the busy, cavernous hall for Thorin, but it was hard to make out any faces among so many workers scattered around. A loud, whooshing blast of hot air suddenly hit her from the side and she stepped backward, bumping into another dwarf.

“This is an odd place for a seamstress!” Balin’s friendly voice yelled over the commotion around them. She turned to see him smiling and holding a chisel.

“Have you seen Thorin?” she shouted back.

He shook his head no, but then shrugged and motioned for her to follow him. They ducked under a large wooden structure and took a sharp left turn into a series of smaller rooms that served as individual workshops. Balin stopped short at one and pointed, and Signí bowed a thank you and stepped inside.

Clad in only pants, Thorin was hammering a glowing piece of iron with calculated pace, though with each strike he gripped the hammer angrily and came down in raging force. Sweat glistened off his bare chest and shoulders, and his hair stuck to his neck, stringy and damp. The glow of the hot coals burning furiously in the furnace behind him only emphasized his ire.

The heat was a bit dizzying, and Signí moved across the room to sit down in a chair. Noticing her, Thorin stopped hammering and watched her.

“What happened?” Signí asked.

Thorin glared at her and brought the hammer down again over the smoldering metal. Sparks flew out in all directions. He sighed and looked up at Signí once more.

“I must stay here while my father walks to his death,” he said bitterly.

~The next morning~

The small group of dwarves assembled beneath the rocky crag outside the entrance of the mountains to say their farewells. Very few outside their immediate circle even knew anyone was leaving, for Thorin had ordered the guards to keep such an expedition quiet. He feared that if too many knew about this and word got out, the group might be hunted down in their travels.

Thorin stepped forward and dutifully packed his father’s bags onto the pony for him. Thrain took him by the arm.

“It’s up to you to keep guard on this place,” Thrain said in a low voice to his son. “You are the grandson of Thror, don’t forget that.”

“These humble halls are no great kingdom, Father,” Thorin replied. “And I am not my grandfather,” he said softly. He knew his father only meant well, but the unspoken was glaringly and painfully obvious. No one outside of the Dwarven race really thought of either Thrain or Thorin as royalty since they’d been displaced from the Lonely Mountain. Where Thror was legendary, Thrain and Thorin were names that were largely unknown except to those who had direct dealings with the dwarves through trade.

“You seem to forget the Arkenstone is buried and guarded by the dragon,” Thorin finally said after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Thrain looked at his son sternly. He knew Thorin was right: without the Arkenstone, the line of Durin could hardly make any claim to the mountain. A mad look began to glaze over Thrain’s face and Thorin instantly regretted mentioning the gem at all.

“The line of Durin shall not so easily be broken!” Thrain exclaimed in a shaky, elderly voice. He glared back at his son. “That gold is ours, and nobody can take it from us!”

Thorin knew his father could neither be convinced into staying, nor into allowing him to join the expedition, but his temper flared anyway. Did Thrain really think it could be as simple as going back? Did he not remember how fearsome and powerful the dragon was?

“Happiness is here, Father. We have built these halls back up again and made ourselves a home. Is that not enough?” Thorin’s voice rose a little too sharply at that last word and the other dwarves were now looking at them.

“Ered Luin is no safer than traveling across Eriador,” Thrain’s face grew dark. “Safety is but an illusion. A dark force watches upon us and that is why you must keep vigilant here.”

Thrain patted his son’s shoulder and feebly climbed up onto his pony.

“This is a journey I must take, my son,” Thrain looked down at Thorin. His face was peaceful again, a moment of clarity shining through his eye.

Thorin looked back up to his father. He stood tall, though his eyes resembled that of an orphaned dwarfling. He had done all he could, and now he was powerless over what his father chose to do.

“He will come back,” Dwalin said as Thorin stepped away from his father’s pony. “You have my word.” Having lost their own father at Azanulbizar, he and Balin knew all too well the fear Thorin hid behind his unsmiling face.

“Do not make such promises,” Thorin replied to his cousin and averted his eyes. He knew there was no way Dwalin could guarantee anyone’s safety on a trip like this.

 

“Mahzirikhi zu gang ghukhil,”** Thorin said to the group after giving Dwalin, Bremir and Balin each a handshake and quick hug. His voice was strong, yet betrayed anxiety.

“Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal,”*** Balin responded to the dwarves left standing and gave a small nod. In that instant, their ponies’ hooves started moving and they were off. 

 

Dís and her mother stood apart from the little group. This was especially difficult for them: seeing loved ones leave was hard enough, but the possibility of never seeing their husbands again was too much. Such a formal goodbye was mostly a matter of protocol, but this time just felt different.

Thorin turned to his mother and sister, but they were already leaving.

“I hope my heart is wrong,” he said softly to Signí.

***

Signí pulled the pot of boiling water off the stove. Thorin was sitting on the other side of the room, studying a map. It had been two weeks since the group left and for the most part, life had returned back to normal save for the ever-missing presence of his father, cousins and brother-in-law. They didn’t really talk about it though. It was an unspoken thing, almost a superstition that if one mentioned their traveling relatives before any word was received, trouble could befall them.

“Coffee?” Signí asked, her eyes falling to the section of map he was looking at. Lone-Lands. She remembered how he had insisted to Balin that they take a certain old road through there to avoid the troll-shaws. Thorin noticed where her eyes had landed and he folded up the map.

“Aye,” he said.

Signí poured the hot water into the metal funnel. His eyes followed her hand for a moment and he looked up at her face.

She hadn’t been feeling too well the past few days. Another unspoken thing, only Thorin really had no clue. She watched as the last of the water bubbled through the layer of coffee grounds and cheesecloth filter. She looked back up to see he was still watching her.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out.

Thorin blinked for a moment, not quite registering what he’d heard at first until an ear-to-ear grin took over his face. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her.

This was the first time he’d had a true, genuine smile since his father’s talk of going back to Erebor. Signí smiled back. She was finally starting to allow the excitement to set in, though with all the uncertainty going on around them, a small part of her wondered where they’d even be four years from now when the baby would be born.

“Let’s not worry about anything today,” Thorin whispered softly, seeming to sense her anxiety. “My father was right to keep me here.”

***

Thorin sliced the thick rope with his knife, causing the burlap that was crudely wrapped over the pile to fall down. More cloth remained, still obscuring its contents.

“Where did this come from?” he asked.

“We don’t know. There were no papers’n no one stayed,” a guard replied.

The strange package had arrived outside the main entrance mysteriously in the night, and yet none of the watchmen had seen a thing. The fog had been dense early that morning, and when daylight had shifted into place, this… thing was there. It consisted of a crudely built pallet with the dirty, dark brown cloth thrown over the top and had nothing identifying its sender. 

The guards shifted uncomfortably and looked around. A situation like this was highly distressing to dwarves, for they liked order and papers to go along with it.

Thorin slashed at the fabric again and this time it came tumbling down, revealing a life-size dwarven statue laying flat on its back. Its head had been crudely sawed off and placed next to its body. Upon closer look, he realized it was the likeness of his own grandfather. He recognized it immediately, for it had been taken from the garden in the hills outside the Lonely Mountain; the garden in which he used to play as a dwarfling. His eyes grew dark.

“Close the entrance,” Thorin ordered to the horrified guards. “There will be no trading today, no visitors.”

Thorin was keenly aware of enemies off in the distance, but an attack like this was too close. The Blue Mountains were half a world away from everything else, and whatever vile creature did this had to have made the trek here to target his family specifically. Furthermore, whoever did this knew exactly whom this statue depicted and where to find it in the garden. How were they able to creep around Erebor like that? Did they not have any fear of waking the dragon? Or were they somehow in cahoots with Smaug? He felt sick. His father’s departing words came back to him and he felt immense guilt at dismissing them as paranoia. He thought of Signí and the new baby and his heart burned in fury at the idea of someone putting his family in danger. 

He still hadn’t heard anything on his father’s whereabouts either. It was now seven months since the group had departed and the scout that left with them should have been back by now. The plan was to send him back once they reached halfway to let Thorin know everything was all right so far. 

Thorin glanced back at the beheaded statue. 

“Whoever this is will not defile my grandfather’s memory like this!” he vowed to himself.

***

Dís giggled as Signí flipped her coin across the board. Seven points.

“Finally!” she exclaimed, for her sister-in-law hadn’t scored anything since they started playing and the game was nearly over.

“Stop laughing at me!” Signí covered her face, pretending to be ashamed at her abysmal score. 

Dís took her turn and her face grew a little more serious.

“Have you thought of names yet?” she asked Signí.

“Of course not! We still have almost three more years to go!” she replied. “Besides, it’s probably a boy anyway.”

Dís shrugged. Of course it was probably a boy, and of course it would have some kind of family name. The odds of having a girl were only one in three.

“I think Thorin wants a Frerin,” Signí said softly.

Dís smiled at that thought. They both grew quiet for a moment at the mention of her other brother’s name. No one really brought that name up anymore and it made her sad sometimes. She knew he’d have gone with the group, and proudly so. Another Frerin would be such a good thing! It would bring life back to that name. It would be one of the best kinds of ways to honor him. 

She wondered what Bremir and everyone else were doing that very moment. She hoped her father wasn’t being too difficult for them. She looked down. The tile was cold against her feet. She missed Bremir so much. He had had this tile specially shipped in from Bree when they married, and then laid it all in for her so painstakingly. She thought of the way he had beamed when he laid the very last piece in, his eyes sparkling like exclamation points over his perfectly braided beard.

“Your turn again,” Signí said. “But we don’t have to keep playing. I think you won anyway.”

The door suddenly burst open and Dís’ mother appeared, the color completely drained from her face.

Dís rushed up to help her mother sit down.

“The scout…” Mrs. Durin began. “… the scout is back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Shit!" in Khuzdul
> 
> ** "I wish you a safe journey"
> 
> *** "May we meet again with the grace of Mahal"


	18. The Scout's Tidings

The terrified dwarf looked around the room, eyes as big as saucers. He hadn’t uttered a word since returning to the mountains. Instead, he’d hobbled to the entrance where one of the guards recognized him immediately as the scout who had left with Thrain and took him right to Thorin.

The poor dwarf couldn’t speak, so traumatized he was. He’d sat at the table shivering, ignoring the tea and food that had been brought to him. Thorin shooed everyone out to give him some space and they sat in silence for a while.

The scout took the pen from Thorin with a shaky hand, and taking a deep breath he began scrawling on the paper laid out before him.

“Lost in Ettenmoors…” he wrote.

“Ettenmoors!” Thorin exclaimed, a sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He had tried to direct Balin away from the Troll-Shaws before they left, but the Ettenmoors were much farther north than they should have gone. “How did you get there?”

“Lost the road, on foot… followed the river…” the scout continued to write. “Dark voices everywhere…”

Thorin looked at him confused. Were they under some kind of enchantment?

“On foot?,” Thorin asked. “What happened to the ponies?”

“Ran away…” the scout wrote out. “We were chased down…” he scrawled again before dropping his head to the table.

“Who chased you down?” Thorin asked gently, though his alarm was growing. “What about the rest of the group?”

“Everyone hid…” he wrote, head still resting on the table. “I leave for help… Thrain says too dangerous to go alone… I leave anyway…”

“They are hiding and need help in the Ettenmoors?” Thorin asked. If he could get word out, Dain and his men could be convinced to help too. A whole troop of dwarves would be arriving within a week if he could find a raven, but those birds did not often come out to the Blue Mountains.

“Not safe…” the scout wrote again, hand shaking. He drew his left arm from his cloak and revealed that his other hand had been severed.

“Who did this to you?” Thorin asked again, a tinge of panic beginning to rise in his voice. “Who is after my father?”

The scout drew a deep breath and sat back up again, and Thorin could see the poor dwarf was struggling to keep his composure. He now stared at Thorin with wild eyes.

“Uzn murûd,” he whispered.*

***

Thorin paced the floor of his darkened sitting room, only growing more infuriated with each step. A chilly breeze from the opened window had blown out the candle and he didn’t bother to relight it. _This is exactly why I should have gone with them,_ he thought bitterly. What were they doing in the Ettenmoors? Crossing through Mirkwood would have been treacherous enough, but to go through Ettenmoors too? He would gather the best guards and leave tomorrow to find them.

The front door opened. Signí’s soft footsteps resonated off the tile through the silent apartment. Her face appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed and reflecting the moonlight that reached through the window. She’d heard. 

She opened her mouth to say something, but his angry silence stopped her short. She stood awkwardly, the small bump of her growing belly showing through her dress.

_Shit_ , he thought. Of course he couldn’t leave. A dwarf never leaves his wife when she’s in a vulnerable state. Or well he could, but it would certainly go against dwarven values. Some of the guards were seasoned fighters. Did he want to send them out and potentially risk their lives too? Who knows what kind of evil was lurking around over there.

Signí disappeared from the doorway and Thorin could hear her moving around in the bedroom. He sat down on the floor in the darkness of the room until her movements quieted. She must have gone to bed. He felt guilty ignoring her, but he was too upset to talk to anyone right now. This was turning into the same nightmare from years before when Nar came back with the horrible news about his grandfather. He was barely an adolescent at forty-four years old when that had happened, but the memory was stronger than ever. 

And oh Mahal, how would he face his mother? And what if something happened to Bremir? He didn’t even want to think about what that would do to Dís. And Balin and Dwalin were his best friends! He needed their counsel. He needed them – all of them – to be okay. What was the point of coming here to build a new life if they couldn’t be a part of it? _This is all my fault_ , he thought despondently. 

He let out an angry sound and punched the floor below him.

The quietness of the room sneered back as he slumped in despair, hand now stinging.

“You should go and find them,” Signí’s voice startled him.

“Go?” he glared back at her.

“Yes, go,” she replied quietly. “You’ll drive yourself mad here wondering about them. Don’t let me keep you here.”

Was she insane? His primary obligation was to protect her (especially now so with everyone being gone), and here she was suggesting he leave too? If this was some kind of test, he was in no mood for games.

“You know I cannot do that,” he said sternly.

“Of course you can!” said Signí. “We’re safe here- Dís and I will be fine here.”

“Please do not make this any more difficult than it already is,” he snapped. “You would have me lack all honor and abandon you? Am I that kind of dwarf to you?”

Signí glared back at him before disappearing into the dark hallway.

Thorin seethed. _This must be some hormonal thing of hers_ he thought. If the rumour mill about his father wasn’t bad enough, leaving his pregnant wife behind to traipse into the Ettenmoors would certainly be quite the story.

“Get dressed,” Signí said, her voice deadpan as she reappeared in the doorway. She was clad in a _sakadiki-nikud_ **, something he’d never seen her wear before. She tossed him his boots and they landed with a thud next to him.

“We will go together,” she said matter-of-factly, and disappeared into the dark hallway again.

“Have you lost your mind?” Thorin rose, angrily clutching his boots. “I forbid you from going anywhere outside Ered Luin!”

His words went unheard though, for she had already opened the front door and was making her way down the corridor with a packed bag.

Furious, Thorin fumbled his boots on and took after her. He couldn’t believe she could be so foolish!

“You do not understand the evil that lies in wait out there,” he said brusquely, catching up to her. “I cannot allow this!”

“I’ve bargained with Death at the bottom of the Greyflood River,” Signí shot back, quickening her pace now. She made a sharp right turn and he realized she was heading toward the stables.

They reached the ponies and seeing she wasn’t going to change her mind, Thorin let out an exasperated sigh.

“If we go anywhere, you do realize we must disguise ourselves?” he asked her. “Nobody can know you have left Ered Luin. Nobody.”

Signí raised an eyebrow at him and smiled. She flipped her hood up and pulled out her face covering. He was impressed. The robe did a fine job of concealing any trace of femininity on her, including her small baby belly. If he had seen her like this for the first time, he’d have thought she was a simple dwarf traveler.

“Dís will not be happy about this either,” he commented.

“You must disguise yourself, too,” Signí said as she pulled a dark headscarf out of her bag and tossed it to him.

***

Thorin and Signí left that night, the sky eerily clear and calm and saturated with stars. The moon was full and cast a hazy blue glow over the expanse of land that lay before them. Thorin had secretly enlisted two of his best guards, Oin and Faldir, to join them and ordered Signí and her pony to ride in the middle at all times. He could tell the two guards had their suspicions about who this strange dwarf among them was, but neither of them said anything. The plan was to ride through the night and end up in Bree for a day and gather as much information as possible and go from there. So many travelers crossed through there that Thorin figured someone had to know something about their lost relatives.

Hours passed and they rode silently on until they reached the great East-West Road that ran through the Shire. This was obviously the safest route and would take them straight to Bree.

The little hobbit houses seemed charmingly stacked on one another among the hills that surrounded the road, with light emanating from some of the windows, even at this late hour. At one point a hobbit face glared at them through glass for the noise their ponies’ hooves made, for they had come especially close.  
As they neared the edge of the quaint little village, they came to a bridge. Thorin glanced behind him to Signí and motioned everyone to ride closer together. The Brandywine River flowed below them as their ponies’ hooves clacked on the old wood, and soon they found themselves on the edge of a forest with the road narrowing.

“On guard to the right,” Oin said cautiously, for the dense trees on that side made it impossible to decipher if anything or anyone might spring upon them. The hour was now growing really late and Signí yawned. Thorin realized that stopping soon to sleep for a few hours would be better than riding into a sleeping city with nowhere to go and having no energy themselves. _This should have been planned better…_ he thought to himself, somewhat annoyed at Signí’s insistence on leaving when they did.

They veered off the road and, finding a suitable hill that offered visibility and protection, they set up camp for the few hours that remained of night.

***

The bright morning sun bellowed in their faces as all four dwarves awoke. Having been curled up next to Thorin, Signí stretched and rubbed her hip, sore from sleeping on the ground.

“Just another hour or so, eh?” Faldir asked Thorin.

“Aye, maybe less,” Thorin replied, his eyes on Signí as she mounted her pony.

“This is a big responsibility you’ve asked of us, you know,” Faldir now said quietly to Thorin, nodding his head toward the disguised Signí.

“And a secret I am sure you can keep,” he responded in a low voice, his tone gruff. He jumped up onto his pony, irritation creeping in again at this whole situation.

The landscape soon became dotted with houses once more, only this time they looked human. The dirt road road soon widened into a brick one.

“Apples and tomatoes!” yelled a vendor as he set up shop outside a building. Bree was just beginning to wake up and her inhabitants were already starting their days.

They soon found a stable offering vacancy and left their ponies. 

“Faldir, Oin,” Thorin began. “Act as if you’re shopping and find out where each vendor’s farm is. If any of them are from where my father took his path, they might have seen or heard something.”

“We must find lodging for tonight,” he continued, now turning to Signí.

A sign loomed ahead that read _The Prancing Pony_ , and Signí was soon pulled under an arch and through a door by Thorin. This was an inn that looked a lot like Bearden’s old place back in Tharbad, only it was much bigger.

The common room was nearly deserted save for a couple of early risers eating breakfast.

“Table for two?” a cheery human girl asked.

“Two rooms, and we will eat our breakfast in one,” Thorin replied.

“Oh, let me check our vacancies…” the girl said, disappearing through a door.

“What’s wrong with eating at a table?” Signí whispered.

“Do you forget we must remove our scarves and hoods to eat?” he whispered back.

Signí rolled her eyes at him and he scowled. As he feared, her presence seemed to be turning more into a hindrance.

She lightly punched him in the arm and smiled mischievously.

“Nobody knows us here,” she whispered. “We’re just a couple of traveling dwarves!”

Thorin ignored her comment as the girl came back out and handed them two papers to sign and two keys with numbers on them. “102 and 104,” they read.

“The first floor?” Thorin asked the girl. “But we are not hobbits!” Couldn’t she plainly see they were dwarves? Hobbits didn’t dress in capes and hoods or have beards! As if this trip wasn’t foolish enough, here they were being put in the hobbit wing of the Prancing Pony!

“The other rooms are all taken,” the girl replied, eyeing them oddly.

Thorin didn’t believe her but headed down the hall anyway.

“At least you know our disguises work,” Signí said dryly. “Or maybe she’s never seen a dwarf before.”

Thorin smiled back cynically.

The room was surprisingly comfortable and actually quite pleasing to them, for the hobbit style of architecture has much in common with the mountainous corridors and earthy, dug-out rooms of dwarves.  
A small window with a street view was situated on the far wall with two beds below it. A quaint dining table lined the wall to the right and held a simple vase and flower. Past the table stood a doorway that led to the bathroom. Signí peered in and saw that the tub was surprisingly roomy and boasted running water. She’d never encountered running water outside of Ered Luin or Erebor before. Dwarves had invented a genius system of aqueducts and pipelines to move clean water in and dirty water out of their homes, an idea for a system of which many dwarves liked to point out was stolen by the elves.

A knock on the door signaled not only the arrival of food, but Oin and Faldir as well.

“So we are hobbits now?” Oin chuckled as he burst through the door. “I must grow my beard longer then!”

Thorin smirked and then noticed Faldir’s serious face. Oin grew serious as well.

“We met a farmer from Weathertop,” Faldir announced, closing the door behind him. “He has heard a few things. He wants to meet us for dinner.”

“Here?” Thorin asked, slightly alarmed. “You didn’t tell him we were searching for my father, did you?”

“I told him we were travelers looking to settle down,” Faldir replied. “He obviously noticed we were dwarves, so I asked if any dwarves ever traveled through there or lived there. He thinks we want to talk farm business.”

Satisfied with his answer, Thorin didn’t say anything more. He did not like the idea of this farmer knowing where they were staying, but the upside was that Signí could stay safely in the room and he’d at least be close by.

 

~Later that evening~

“Just a sandwich?” Thorin asked Signí as he readied himself to meet with Oin, Faldir and this farmer.

“Aye,” she said, propping her feet on some pillows and flipping through a book. The hobbit bed was incredibly comfortable.

He quickly kissed her and exited the door.

The book was just a directory of businesses in Bree and Signí put it down, bored. Thorin’s insistence on keeping her in this room was out of love, she knew, but she saw no harm in being out as long as she wore her robe. She realized this was a huge risk he was taking though- a dwarf never leaves his pregnant wife’s side if he can help it, and he’d certainly never take her on a potentially dangerous trip such as this one. But then again, if he’d stayed home he would have driven himself (and her) mad with worrying after the scout came back like he did. Maybe it had been a rash decision on her part, but she had to do something.

She wandered to the bathtub and ran some water. It was the perfect warmth. A glass bottle of lavender-scented bubble bath sat on the corner. This had to have been the most luxurious inn run by humans that she had ever stayed in. As the water filled, she dumped the contents of the bottle in and wondered what Dís was doing that moment. Thorin had written her a note to be given to her after they had already left, but she was probably livid and worried sick by now. She felt bad.

She undressed and watched as the bubbles multiplied. She got in and the warmth of the water was comforting on her body. It seemed to relieve every sore spot she’d acquired from riding the pony and sleeping on the ground for the past 24 hours. She sighed. The lit candle cast a warm glow across the small room and she let her arms float in the sudsy water.

Signí heard the lock turn and Thorin came back with her food. He peered in the bathroom, surprised to find her in the tub.

“I will leave it on the table,” he said softly. “The farmer has… not arrived yet.”

His eyes wandered over her as she lay obscured in bubbles. She smiled coyly back at him.

“Too bad I have to stay here by myself tonight,” she said playfully.

Thorin kneeled down next to the tub and smiled again, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. He leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips.

“I will be back soon,” he said dreamily before pulling away.

She drew out a bubbly hand and pulled him closer again by his beard, and he kissed her a second time, this time more deeply.

He stood up again and hesitated a moment, his eyes dark with desire before he smiled at her tenderly.

“This won’t take long, I hope,” he murmured and disappeared through the door.

***

Signí pulled herself out of the tub and wrapped one of the soft, fluffy towels around her body. That hot sandwich smelled delicious and it was calling her name. She unwrapped the greasy paper and was just about to sit down when she heard a crash and screams coming from what sounded like the common room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Dark spirits"
> 
> ** The androgynous robe a female dwarf wears to disguise herself


	19. A Price on his Head

Faldir and Oin exchanged glances. The farmer was late. Two men had taken notice of the dwarves and Oin watched their eyes follow Thorin as he made his way back to their table.

“We are being watched,” Oin whispered to Thorin as he seated himself.

Thorin glanced around. The two men were sitting a few tables away.

“Good evenin’,” a voice bellowed behind them. It was the farmer. “Bought a cow last minute!” he chuckled.

Thorin glared suspiciously at Oin before offering a polite hand to the farmer.

“Name’s Endelin!” he exclaimed cheerily. Thorin bowed his head slightly in reply but didn’t say a word. This guy was talking much louder than he liked.

“My friend here says you are from Weathertop,” Thorin started, giving a nod to Oin. “How is the land there?”

“Ah, you are interested in my little village?” the farmer replied, amused. “I thought dwarves worked in metal and stone, not farming!”

“Dwarves have many talents, including farming,” Thorin replied. “We must feed ourselves somehow.” 

“Just curious to see the likes of you folk to take a fancy, is all…” Endelin said. He looked at the three of them quizzically. “Are you from the Iron Hills?”

Thorin winced a little. This guy was really talking a little too loudly for his liking.

“There are different kinds of dwarves, sir,” Oin replied coolly. “There’s ones that live in mountains, and ones who travel, petty dwarves we like to say…”

Thorin kicked Oin under the table. Of course Oin was just bluffing, but he was no petty dwarf! He began to wonder if this might be a waste of time.

“I mean, no insult or nothing, but your kind doesn’t come ‘round my parts,” Endelin continued. “Well, at least not usually…”

“What do you mean ‘usually’?” Faldir cut in, speaking in a much quieter tone than Endelin was.

The farmer’s expression changed.

“Well lately we seen some things, heard noises at night,” he responded.

Endelin studied Thorin for a moment before his eyes traveled to something across the room.

“I uh…” he stammered. “I have to go…”

At this, he slowly stood up and made a dash for the exit, leaving Thorin and his companions alone at the table.

Except they weren’t alone.

“Move an inch and I’ll cut you,” a voice snarled into Thorin’s ear as a cold blade softly grazed the skin of his throat. Faldir and Oin pulled daggers from their pants in defense, but upon noticing the blade held to his neck, neither wanted to risk Thorin’s vulnerable state by making any move. Two more men now appeared behind them and held knives to their backs.

“You’ll come with me now,” the voice continued, and Thorin was pulled up roughly by his shoulders with a rope the man had slid across his chest, effectively binding his arms.

“Piss off, you worthless rat!” Thorin exclaimed, slamming his head back into the offender and kicking the table in the process. Screams emanated from around them as panicked diners scrambled for the exit.

Unable to escape, Thorin was bound and shoved forward, with Faldir and Oin now fighting with the men who had accosted them. The man held the blade to his throat again and he realized they were headed to the inn’s hobbit wing.

“We’re going to visit someone,” the voice hissed as they arrived at the door Thorin was sharing with Signí.

The mugger kicked it open to reveal a half-dressed Signí with her arms held behind her back by yet another man, with a knife to her throat. She looked up, her eyes staring back into Thorin’s and wide with fear.

Thorin raged.

His captor now shoved him into one of the small chairs and swiftly looped more rope around, tying him to the wooden frame.

“Make a move and she dies,” he hissed. 

Thorin’s assailant sauntered over to Signí. He was clad in all black with a leather cape trailing his steps. He was shorter than the second man holding Signí hostage, and he was clearly the leader of whatever ring of bandits they were. His eyes swept over her breasts as they showed through the thin, white fabric of her nightgown. The second man chortled, still holding the sharp blade against her soft skin.

“I’ve never seen a lady-dwarf before,” the one with the cape said menacingly, running a finger along the side of her cheek. His eyes wandered down to her small burgeoning belly. He glanced back at Thorin knowingly and then looked her over again, his eyes glittering. “My, my… what a price you would fetch!”

Signí locked eyes with Thorin. They glimmered.

“I’m not…” Signí squeaked out. “I’m not a dwarf!”

“And I’m the bloody elven-king!” the caped man snapped at her. The knife pressed a little closer into her skin and she gasped. Thorin lurched and then stopped himself, still shaking with anger.

“She is a little too pretty for a dwarf, methinks,” the second man chimed in.

“He said your women-folk are ugly,” the caped man laughed, now turning to Thorin in an attempt to goad him. “But this one… this one we could enjoy for ourselves back at camp and then sell for a pretty penny…”

Thorin seethed. 

“Well?” the man egged him on, his voice disgustingly sweet. “What say you? Is she as good as she looks? You would know.”

“Our women-folk are ugly,” he hissed back.

“But is this one not yours?” the man responded.

“No…” he gritted through his teeth. This was agonizing. “She is –”

“A hobbit!” Signí interjected. “I’m a hobbit, of course.”

The caped man now turned and glared at her.

“Why do you think I am staying in a hobbit room?” she continued, her voice growing more assertive. “My husband is a dairy farmer and he will not at all be pleased when he comes back to this intrusion of our privacy.”

“A hobbit…” the man snarled, turning to Thorin.

“A hobbit won’t get very much, Master,” the second man said lowly, relaxing the knife on Signí’s throat.

“This is a ruse!” the caped one snapped. “Look at her sideburns! Her hair has braids!”

“All dwarves have beards,” Thorin said lowly. For once a misconception about his race was working to their advantage. “This hobbit lass lacks a beard.”

The second man pulled the knife from Signí’s throat and roughly pushed her aside.

“This is a waste of time, Master,” he said.

“A waste of time?” the caped one retorted, removing his gauntlets. “A waste of time is dragging along someone as useless as you! You were supposed to find the dwarves that were staying here!”

Thorin watched them as they argued, alarmed. How did they know dwarves were staying here? Did the girl who checked them in know something they didn’t?

The two men charged each other and began to fight. Thorin took the opportunity to smash the chair he was bound to against the wall, though his arms were still tied.

Signí grabbed her robe and rushed over to Thorin in an attampt to untie him.

“Stay here and leave my binds be,” he whispered. 

She looked at him, bewildered.

“Trust me,” he replied. He kicked the remnants of the chair at the fighting men and smiled.

“It is in poor form to fight in front of a lady,” he chided.

The two men stopped and turned to him, knives drawn. Thorin ran out of the room and down the hall as they chased him.

They ended up in the inn’s kitchen where Thorin leapt over an open fire and out the back exit. The two men ran headfirst into a large fryng pan held by one of the confused chefs, but soon followed his trail. Being hindered by having his arms still immobilized, Thorin slowed down and panted, letting the footsteps behind him catch up.

He turned around to face the bandits.

The taller man grabbed Thorin by the rope and patted him down.

“He carries nothing of value, Master,” he said, hatred in his voice. “He is not the right one.”

The caped man stepped closer and eyed Thorin up and down, paying special attention to his hands.

“From where are you traveling, Dwarf?” he sneered. “Do you come from the Blue Mountains? I hear Thorin Oakenshield has some sort of settlement there now.”

Thorin glared back, unspeaking.

“You are tall… tall for a dwarf,” he continued. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you a Durin, but we all know the descendents of the great Dwarf King are nobody now! Maybe they’re all dead!”

“No matter, this dwarf scum’s head would catch a nice bounty!” the other man exclaimed. 

Without a word, Thorin twisted his body enough to reach the man’s drawn knife and managed to graze the blade against the rope, as well as the skin of his upper arm. Arms now free, he pulled out the small axe he’d concealed in his pants and swung.

Blood dripped down his forearm, but it wasn’t from either of the men, for they had both ducked his swing. The taller man now lunged for his chest, but Thorin blocked it, grabbed his wrist and pointed the man’s hand with the knife toward the man’s face.

At this moment, Oin and Faldir arrived, out of breath and with axes drawn.

“Why are you after me?” Thorin demanded. “Who has sent you?”

The man quivered and let the knife fall from his clammy fingers as Thorin still clutched his wrist.

Seeing that they were now outnumbered, the caped man ran while Thorin pressed his companion further. He drew his fingers around the man’s throat just enough to make his point.

“Speak and I will spare you,” Thorin growled. “Do not make me kill you.”

The man squirmed.

“I follow my master…” the man sputtered. “My master follows another…”

Thorin tightened his grip slightly and the man’s eyes bugged at him.

“A Dark Lord…” he man choked out. “He seeks the dwarf who carries something… I know no more!”

“What dwarf doesn’t carry something?” Thorin asked him skeptically, for dwarves were notorious for filling their pockets and carrying all sorts of things.

The man stammered unintelligibly. His voice flattened to a vacant tone and he mumbled strange words. “Enemy of the dragon, the son of a fallen king!”

At this, the man’s eyes began to roll back in his head and he convulsed as if possessed by a strange evil. Thorin let him fall to the ground.

“What… just… happened?” Faldir asked, staring at the dead man on the ground.

“We… cannot stay here,” Thorin replied, dazed.

***

“What do you mean someone knows?” demanded Signí. They had been packing their bags to leave, but she’d insisted they stay the night. She felt that since they’d already paid for the two rooms and chased off the bandits, the inn was most likely the safest place they could be at the moment. And besides all that, it was dangerous to travel at night.

She did have a point.

“Word has gotten out somehow,” Thorin said. “Those men were obviously not only looking for my father, but they knew somehow to come to this room. How did they know?”

“But they think they found the wrong room!” Signí replied. “They believed my hobbit story. They won’t be back any time soon, at least not here.”

“Do you not realize the danger we are in?” Thorin snapped. He studied her for a moment. “Did I not say how unsafe it was to leave Ered Luin?”

He briskly paced the floor, trying to keep his anger in check. He regretted ever leaving the Blue Mountains at all. At this point their relatives had been gone for so long that it was no surprise rumours of their travels were getting around, but Thorin feared that word had somehow gotten out that he and Signí (especially Signí) had left Ered Luin. If that were the case, they were basically just moving targets at this point.

“I’m sorry I got us in this mess,” Signí said softly.

He stopped and studied her again. It wasn’t fair to blame her entirely for this. _You must keep vigilant here!_ his father’s departing words echoed in his mind. Guilt flooded through him. He primary job was to protect Signí, Dís and everyone else in Ered Luin. What was he doing here, getting into brawls with bandits and putting his wife in danger like this? What good was being here compared to Ered Luin if they were just going to be hunted down? They had little resources and had made no progress on the whereabouts of their relatives any more than what the scout had relayed. They’d have better luck going to the Iron Hills and seeking reinforcement from Dain. He sat next to her on the bed, taking her hands.

“This is no place for us,” he said softly. “But you are right; we will stay here for the night and then go back home tomorrow. I cannot put you in danger like that ever again.”

Signí ran her fingers through his beard and rested her head on his shoulder, fighting back tears as the reality of everything set in.

 

Suddenly a knock came from the door. Thorin got up cautiously and opened it just a few inches.

“I- I’m sorry for the intrusion, but…,” it was the girl from the common room who had checked them in. “Do you mind?”

Thorin opened the door to let her in, but eyed her with suspicion. She didn’t seem to notice the pieces of broken chair from earlier.

“I don’t know who you are, but there is something you must know…” she began nervously.


	20. Pursuit

“And that is why I had you checked in to the hobbit wing,” the girl said somberly. “I thought it best- I didn’t mean any trouble. This is not a safe place for dwarves. Those men have been scouting our village out for weeks, but my father couldn’t do anything about it. They paid for their rooms and hadn’t technically done anything wrong, ya know?”

Thorin stood in silence, contemplating her words. So a band of dwarves had been spotted on the East-West road only weeks before, their descriptions fitting the likes of their lost relatives perfectly. What’s more, there were reports of outlaws raiding the small villages dotted across Eriador, targeting known Dwarven homes and ransacking any houses where the humans were reputed to be friendly to dwarves. Anger filled him as he realized they must not have been wearing any kind of disguises while traveling. How could they be so foolish? His own father warned him of enemies watching them… didn’t Balin or Dwalin or Bremir even care to take any kind of precaution? And now word has spread among this part of the land and the danger they were in seemed to be growing by the day. What did his father have that was so wanted? The Lonely Mountain had already been taken, they had little more wealth in Ered Luin than any other race or settlement… what could anyone possibly want with an old, exiled dwarf king?

He didn’t trust humans, but her face seemed sincere. He didn’t want to give away his identity of course, but she seemed to know so much and was so oddly sympathetic to the dwarves’ plight. He wasn’t used to that. Signí shifted nervously. She’d wrapped the blanket around herself and hunched forward as though she were chilly.

“My uncle owned a place in Tharbad and knew ol' King Thrain. Our families have always been friendly to dwarves,” the girl continued.

Thorin studied her face, but he didn’t recognize her at all.

“Bearden’s inn?” he asked.

“Yes!” her face lit up. “Did you know my uncle too?”

“Aye, I met him once or twice,” he replied coolly. He was still cautious of blowing his cover, though he worried why she was referring to his old friend in past tense like this.

“Well, he passed a few months ago,” she said sadly.

“My condolences,” replied Thorin, letting some of his guard down now.

“He was an old man, but I don’t believe it was age that caused his death…” she went on. “My cousin said someone had come to visit him… they thought him a dwarf at first; he said he was a servant of Thrain.”

Signí and Thorin exchanged glances.

“The visitor came to see him while he lay sick in his bed,” she continued. “You see, he just had a small fever, something he would have recovered from easily. They didn’t pay any mind until they heard my uncle yelling at the stranger to get out of his room…”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears.

“After that encounter, my uncle didn’t speak a word,” she said quietly. “He fell into a deep sleep and died two days later.”

“Your uncle was a good man,” Thorin said gently, giving her a small respectful bow.

The girl looked behind her as if suddenly remembering something and drew her cloak around her shoulder.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she said. “Let me know if there’s anything you might need.”

She turned to slip out the door, but Thorin politely stopped her a moment.

“Was this visitor indeed a dwarf?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” she replied. “My cousin said he couldn’t remember anything about him… except that he had no beard…”

A sense of dread now crept over both Thorin and Signí as they each recalled the stranger that had appeared at their wedding feast.

***

The light from the lantern across the street flickered off the wet brick road and through the small window of the little room. Thunder rumbled off in the distance and Thorin was glad they had decided to stay put for the night. He lay in the bed, watching the light as it expanded in soft, golden waves across the ceiling. They’d gone to bed hours ago, but his mind raced. The girl’s words echoed in his head.

 _Just a few weeks ago,_ she had said. _Five of them._

So they had been spotted by travelers passing through and rumours were swirling around that the exiled Dwarven king—his father—was no longer in Ered Luin. Even more troubling was that a reward was now being offered for his capture. _But who would want an old dwarf like him?_ , Thorin wondered. It made no sense: surely his people had their enemies, but there was no Erebor to take anymore, and if anyone wanted to lay any kind of damage they’d attack the Blue Mountains if they knew their leader wasn’t there. But it wasn’t his people who were being targeted. The men who had attacked them were looking for some kind of object he didn’t have… it made no sense! What could his father possibly have in his possession that they wanted?

Thorin thought of the generations before him, from Erebor to the Grey Mountains to Khazad-dum… it seemed as though his family name was cursed with someone or something attacking nearly every one of his ancestors and blighting their home since the time of Durin VI. Dwarves were indeed a proud folk, with ornate halls and a talent for accumulating wealth, and it was no secret they weren’t the easiest to get along with at times. But it seemed as though his family line in particular just had a near-constant string of bad luck. And for as long as he could remember, Thorin was keenly aware of the whispers about his family. He’d watched his grandfather disintegrate into madness and even his great-grandfather had been slain by a cold-drake. 

He turned his head and looked at Signí’s sleeping figure next to him, shrouded in shadow. Her dark hair splayed across his pillow and anxiety welled in his chest. Had he doomed her and their unborn dwarfling to a lifetime of his family’s curse too? 

He slowly stood up out of the bed and made his way to the window. His father’s worsening condition had creeped into their lives so innocuously at first, like the silly little eccentricities that getting old entailed. Nobody paid any real mind until his obsession with Erebor grew, and it wasn’t just Erebor he ranted about; it was the stolen wealth inside he wanted. His actions had grown hauntingly more like Thror’s to resemble goldsickness, only there was no real amount of gold around. His family had justified Thror’s unsound mind by the wealth he had accumulated, for it was more than any dwarf or elf or human had ever had! These were special circumstances, right? But for Thrain to develop a goldsickness, it just didn’t make sense. 

Signí sighed in her sleep and rolled over, facing his direction now. Thorin watched her face on the pillow as she dreamed, looking peacefully angelic. Her father had never wanted them to be together, and he could see why. Anvari and Thrain had been such good friends before Azanulbizar, before the orc had come to Tharbad and made all the warring off in the distance hit so close to home. He recalled a quarrel he’d overheard between them one night. He and Frerin were supposed to have gone to bed, for they both had apprenticeships early the next morning. Instead, they'd stayed up playing music and heard the commotion outside the open window. 

“What will going over there now accomplish?!” Anvari demanded angrily. “I’m no warrior, but even I know we’d be outnumbered!”

It was one of those autumn nights where the day had been hot but the air chilled to a brisk at sunset. Anvari had evidently walked home from the pub with Thrain, and they had both stopped outside the small house with voices echoing off the brick street, embroiled in argument.

“You are not a warrior indeed,” Thrain retorted. “A whole army of our people is behind us, ready to fight one last battle, once and for all, and my own best friend does not even show his support.”

“I will fight, but you are making a mistake,” Anvari replied quietly. “Our people are too scattered across Eriador right now, and your own sons are not experienced enough yet… you would send dwarflings into battle? I say this as your friend.”

“You are only concerned with losing profit from your business,” Thrain said bitterly, stomping to the front door. 

“You have changed…” Anvari said through gritted teeth. “And I am not the one worried about riches here.”

“Changed?” Thrain shrieked back. “A dragon will do that. And a war with orcs. Do you forget I must avenge my father's death?!”

“I fear losing your father has turned you into him,” Anvari said darkly.

 

Those words had haunted Thorin ever since. Coming from Anvari, he hadn’t paid much credence to them at first, but they had sat there in the back of his mind like a simmering pot on a stove and threatening to boil over if the fire grew any hotter. Looking back, it did seem foolish to have launched an attack at the east gate of Moria when they did. Had they waited a little longer they could have strengthened themselves, prepared themselves better… maybe then they wouldn’t have lost so many of their own… maybe Frerin’s life would have been spared.

A surge of anger and sadness coursed through Thorin’s veins as he fought back tears over his little brother’s death. He had tried so hard to protect him… leading the frontline with their father, he'd wanted to somehow push Frerin back, to convince him to stay behind where the enemy was less fierce. He’d only turned away for an instant to fight off an orc and the next thing he saw as he turned his head were Frerin’s grey eyes looking back at him, widened at the pain surging through his body. In only a matter of moments, the face he’d spent so much of his boyhood telling secrets to, teasing, getting into trouble with now lay lifeless before him on the cold ground. 

Thorin sharply inhaled as though he’d forgotten to breathe for a second. It was so brutally unfair. Of course, that was so long ago now, but rehashing old memories had a funny way of making things feel as though they had just happened all over again. He looked out the window. The rain pelted against the glass, obscuring the orange of the lantern across the street into a glowing blob. Far off in the distance the heavy clouds were beginning to turn from black to grey, and Thorin realized dawn wasn’t far behind.

Anvari had been right about his father. Living through a dragon attack was traumatizing indeed, but Thrain had been perfectly fine, that is, he coped well considering everything. But when Thror died, everything changed. And it wasn’t just the normal grief that had gripped him; it was something else… as though something he’d acquired had fundamentally altered his personality somehow.

 _Yes, Anvari was right all along!_ The realization swept over him like a strike of lightning. The only thing his father had ever inherited from his grandfather was his ring! That ring had been passed down for generations- the very generations who were continuously plagued by dragons! Could it somehow be cursed? He’d been told as a dwarfling that it had been given to an ancestor by some wise old elf, though he’d now long forgotten why or how. It was something that was to be kept secret and hidden from view, but his grandfather had worn it more brazenly in his madness, and now his father seemed to follow suit. It all made sense now! Whoever is searching for his father is searching for his ring! That’s why those bandits lost interest when they realized Thorin didn’t have what they wanted. That was why that beardless creature had come to his wedding feast and had taken such a special interest in Thrain…

A chill ran through his body.

“We must find them,” he said aloud, forgetting that Signí was sleeping. He tore through the room and began to pack their things. 

She groggily rubbed her eyes and murmured, looking up in confusion.

“Mahal! Get dressed! We must find them before it’s too late!”


	21. The Unexpected Guest

Signí sat up in the bed, disoriented and slightly annoyed. She’d been dreaming about the most delicious apple pie and was just about to take a bite when Thorin had woken her.

“We have little time,” he said. “I will get Oín and Faldir. Be ready when I return!”

Signí slowly swung her legs over the edge and sluggishly stood up. She felt a thousand years old and only wanted to lie back down again. Everything hurt. The sun was barely up! This was absurd.

Thorin returned just as she threw her robe on and raised an expectant eyebrow. Seeing her only half ready irritated him.

“Why are we leaving so early?” Signí asked, yawning.

He said nothing and grabbed both of their bags, leaving the room again.

 

A half hour later, the four dwarves hurried to the stables to retrieve their ponies. Faldir threw money into the lap of the attendant sleeping inside the booth and reached over him, grabbing the key to the stall their ponies were housed in. He stirred, mumbled something and went back to snoring.

As they rounded a corner, Signí leaned into Thorin.

“What is the meaning of all this?” she hissed through her face covering. “We’re just going home, right?”

Thorin now stopped and turned to her, looking her in the eye.

“Someone is after my father for the ring he carries,” he said in a low voice.

The image of Thrain raving furiously at the unseen object in his hand the first night of their wedding feast instantly sprang to her mind. Signí squinted back at Thorin.

“We must find them before it is too late,” he continued, turning away from her. “Perhaps we can save my father yet from his madness,” he whispered to himself.

Signí caught what he’d said, however, and watched as he arranged her pony’s saddle. Did he really think it could be so simple as to somehow rescue his father from a piece of jewelry? She admired how dogged his loyalty was when it came to his family, but this just seemed so far-fetched. It hadn’t even been nine hours ago since they discovered just how acutely in danger they were, with Thorin insisting they go home immediately, and yet this strange fiery determination now took over him as though this whole thing were all his idea to begin with. But for what? Even if they did find them, would it even be possible to part Thrain from his ring? And furthermore, it seemed downright absurd to think that a small piece of jewelry was responsible for his father’s madness.

“You doubt me,” he said to her, as if reading her mind. But he didn’t wait for a response and instead led both of their ponies out of the stable.

Signí trailed after him. The backdrop of the brightening sky over the dim, early morning mist around them made his figure look more like a moving silhouette as he adjusted their two small bags on his pony. The wet ground dampened the hem of her robe and the fabric felt heavy and sticky against her boots as she stood watching him. A hand landed on her shoulder.

“Aye, are these the very dwarves I met yesterday?” came the booming voice. It seemed congenial, yet Signí jumped at its sudden intrusion. She backed away out of his reach.

Faldir, Oin and Thorin simultaneously faced the stranger and a look of recognition came over their faces.

“Quite bold of you to show your face again,” Thorin said with an agitated tone in his voice. “What do you want?”

He protectively stepped between the man and Signí, crossed his arms and glared.

“I- I- um,” the man stammered. “Are you still thinking of travelin’ to Weathertop? I- I’d like to help you.”

“Help?” Thorin smirked. “We won’t be needing any help from a loudmouth like you.”

The man, whom Signí now realized must be this Endelin guy they’d met with in the common hall while she stayed behind in that room, shrank back apologetically.

“I- I’m a friend of the innkeeper's…” he said softly. “I didn’t mean any harm- I didn’t know those men were headhunters. Rania told me ever’thing.”

“Everything, eh?” Thorin’s eyes flashed with anger. “The girl at the inn? And what does she know?”

Endelin looked at him with a confused expression.

“I just- just didn’t know it was so dangerous for dwarves to be travelin’ nowadays, is all,” he stammered back. “I want to help you get to Weathertop, if that may be your destination.”

Thorin observed him a moment and Oín gave him a small nudge. The man now looked at his feet, hands slack at his sides. He seemed genuine, but Thorin didn’t buy it.

“So you mean to say you want to accompany us to Weathertop,” Thorin said suspiciously. “To Weathertop, where you live? And you’d be coming like this?”

Thorin pointed out Endelin’s obvious lack of bags or horse or even wagon. He was, after all, supposed to be a vendor selling his wares.

“I leave my things with my wife,” Endelin replied. “At her house…" he trailed off.

Oín and Faldir glanced at each other.

“Your wife doesn’t live in Weathertop with you?” asked Oín, in a tone just as suspicious as Thorin’s.

“I have me two!” Endelin said, a cheery tone coming into his voice. “They pay no mind ‘bout the other one, so long as they don’t hafta see each other!” he chuckled.

“I’ll not entertain the follies of men,” Thorin said in disgust and turned back to his pony.

Endelin now trailed after him.

“Please, it’s the least I can do… I mean no disrespect. I am traveling that way anyhow and I know the safest route there…” he pleaded. His voice fell to a near-whisper and he said cryptically, “I know where your kin are hidin’.”

Thorin turned sharply, removed his face covering and looked the man in the eye.

“My kin?” he grilled.

Though being a human and slightly taller in stature, Endelin fidgeted under Thorin’s glare.

“Do not play with me,” Thorin hissed. 

“I know you’re not really looking into farming in Weathertop…” the man whispered. “Those bandits were seeking you out…”

“You just said you did not know how dangerous it was for dwarves to be traveling in a time like this!" Faldir cut in angrily. "And those bandits were seeking any dwarves out.” 

“With the likes of you, we will only encounter more trouble,” Thorin said in a low voice. He didn't believe anything this man said. With all the rumors going around, anyone could assume a traveling dwarf was looking for his father. “Now be gone.”

Endelin paused a moment, as if he were unsure what to do next.

“They looked a lot like you, braided beards… a couple of ‘em were tall for dwarves,” Endelin scoffed in a low voice. “My wife gave them shelter in the barn… said they came from a bad place, like Ettenmoors or someplace, then they left next mornin’…”

Thorin inhaled sharply and studied the man. He seemed to know so much more than he let on, and while he was eager to hear any news of his lost relatives, this man was impudent and cocky and he did not trust him.

“Perhaps he came along with us…” Faldir suggested. “There are four of us and one of him…” He now turned to Endelin while still addressing Thorin and said menacingly, “He’d be outnumbered if he tried anything anyway.”

Thorin paused a moment more, his silence volatile before he motioned toward Signí’s pony.

“You may ride with us, but I will make you regret it if you try anything,” he said darkly, hopping up onto his pony and offering a hand to Signí to join him.

She climbed up behind him, wrapped her arms around his torso and glanced back nervously at the man. He looked back at her with a curious look on his face. She pulled her scarf a little closer across her cheek. She’d have to be much more careful now about keeping her identity concealed.

“How long is he going to be with us?” she whispered as their ponies began moving.

“As long as we let him,” he replied curtly. His agitation was obvious, though he let one hand free from the pony’s reigns and rested it over hers in a reassuring manner. He’d never say it aloud in the mood he was in, but he felt better having her closer to him on his pony than riding separately anyway.

 

The sky was half-blanketed in thick grey at their backs while clear blue sky lay ahead. The rain from the clouds moving away had filled all the gaps between the crooked bricks of the road with puddles, causing their ponies’ hooves to slosh mud up behind them. The brightness of the sun promised warmth, but the air was still chilly from the heavy storms that had passed through. They were headed east, and though the East-West Road was the most direct route to Weathertop, it was also the most dangerous. Instead, they'd veer north through Weather Hills until they reached Endelin’s village and the purported trail their lost relatives had taken.

Hours later, the landscape began to morph into a rocky and inhospitably hilly terrain, signaling that Weathertop wasn't much farther off. Traversing the hills was exhausting though, and they’d only stopped once to eat, and fatigue was beginning to overtake Signí. The warmth of Thorin’s body in front of hers blocked the wind, but her stomach growled and her bladder was full. She rested her forehead against the heavy fabric of his cape, his hair escaping in small wafts and brushing against the skin of her face not covered by her scarf in the wind. She wished they were home again.

“Where are we stopping for the night?” she asked softly in his ear. To be honest, her butt ached and she couldn’t wait to stand on solid ground again.

“Aye, we should stop soon,” he replied. He motioned for everyone to halt, jumped off the pony and had some quiet words with Oín. 

Still on Signí’s pony and only about ten feet away, Endelin shifted and his eyes landed on her. He was a stocky fellow, with hair that had prematurely whitened and looked utterly disproportionate to the few wrinkles he had.

“Your li’l horse here has good legs!” he commented to her. She wasn’t sure if this was just a congenial attempt at conversation or something else.

She politely bowed back, staying silent. This was awkward. Her voice would be a dead giveaway and this guy seemed sketchy.

“Ya not a big talker, eh?” he pushed further, but Thorin cut in.

“Where is the nearest place we might be able to rest?” he asked the man coldly. Signí knew this was mainly for her benefit and she felt a little guilty. If she hadn’t been with them, she knew they’d have kept traveling on at a much faster pace and a longer one at that, for dwarves are normally very durable.

“Nothing until my village, but that's a quite a ways off still,” Endelin replied. He now looked at Signí more curiously, as if questioning why this silent dwarf seemed to need a break so soon. “We’re better off settin’ up camp now if ya want to avoid any raiders passin’ through.”

Thorin glanced the man up and down suspiciously, but agreed. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky and the hills around them afforded some cover from anyone or anything that might be passing through in the night.

“We’ll retire for the night here, but we move again at dawn,” he said authoritatively.

***

The small fire burned a deep orange as Faldir prepared a rabbit he’d hunted. It wasn’t much, but it would tide them over until they could reach the next village. Signí suddenly remembered one of the loaves of bread she’d stowed away in her bag and broke it open over a cloth in the grass, offering it to everyone. It was surprisingly not as stale as she’d expected.

They all surrounded the warm flames as Faldir held the pieces of meat over it with his axe. The blade was wide enough that it served well as a cooking surface, though he had to be careful to keep it balanced so the food wouldn’t slide off as it began to sizzle.

“My wife in Weathertop makes the best stewed rabbit!” Endelin exclaimed, but no one replied. “She’s a fair cook, that lass. I don’t suppose ya dwarven-folk have ladies ta cook? Hey, is it true that even your ladies are actually men, what wi' them beards and all?”

Thorin, Oín and Faldir glared at him. Signí looked down and smirked beneath her scarf. This guy couldn’t possibly be this stupid, could he? It seemed as if he was purposely goading them on, trying to get a rise out of Thorin. _No,_ she thought to herself. _He’s definitely up to something._

“It is late,” Thorin said brusquely. He stood abruptly, rolling out a small fur pelt on the ground. Faldir and Oín did the same. He turned to Endelin once more.

Endelin grunted but stayed where he was, staring into the fire.

***

Signí lay on her fur pelt wide-awake. The ground felt chilly beneath her and her blanket felt slightly damp. Endelin still sat beside the fire, though it had dimmed down to smoldering embers by now. She wasn’t sure if he was dozing or still awake. Something was definitely off about him. Time was of the essence if they were going to find their relatives, and this guy obviously knew more than he was letting on. She feared Thorin’s approach of letting this man follow them to Weathertop might only serve to waste more time, or worse, lead them into danger if her intuition was correct. He seemed to know exactly who Thorin was, which worried her. His weird, unpoken interest in her creeped her out too, yet it suddenly occurred to her that she might use it to her advantage to find out what he knew. Neither Thorin, Oín nor Faldir had the patience to deal with getting any information from this guy without force, but she could. At least, she hoped she could.

She sat up and glanced down at Thorin beside her. He was fast asleep.

Quietly, she rose and crept closer to the fire. Endelin’s eyes were closed, but he still sat in an upright position. This was her chance.

She sat before him, watching him a moment. She didn’t want to startle him and risk any noise he might make. The knife he carried lay on the ground beside him and she quickly grabbed it. He still sat there, eyes closed. She softly blew on the smoky embers so that it might go in his face to gently wake him.

He opened his eyes. She drew her hand over his mouth before he could say anything. His eyes widened.

“Speak quietly and answer my questions,” she hissed. She knew her female voice was a dead giveaway, but she didn’t care at this point. He stared back at her in gaping silence as she pulled her hand back. 

“You know more than you let on,” she continued. “Why us?”

“What do you mean, ‘why us?’” he shot back.

Signí glared at him.

“I’m no fool,” she replied. “You sought us out. What do you know?”

Endelin snorted.

“I know I could get quite a sum for the likes of a dwarf lass,” he sneered back at her. “I bet your hidin’ a gold hoard somewhere too!”

“I could have you killed,” she whispered back harshly. She flashed his knife at him.

His expression changed as he realized he had no weapon anymore. They stared each other down for a few moments.

“Aye, you could kill me indeed, for I am nothing but an ol’ farmer,” he relented. 

“I don’t believe you,” Signí replied flatly. “You know something. Tell me what it is.”

“You don’t believe I’m a farmer?” he asked, laughing softly. “Oh, if I am lying, it’s not about that, miss!”

Suddenly, one of the dwarves sighed in his sleep and rolled over. Both Endelin and Signí froze. She was certain it was dark enough now that whoever it was couldn’t see them, but she feared their voices might wake them.

“You are afraid of them,” Endelin said to Signí.

“I have nothing to fear from them aside from perhaps they might kill you before you tell me what you know!” she retorted.

Endelin squinted his eyes at her in the dim light.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied coolly.

“Indeed you do,” she said in the same cool tone he was using, although she was fuming inside. She stood up now. “But whatever. Then stay silent. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You’re not going to ah… curse me or somethin’?” Endelin whispered, quietly laughing in a jeering manner.

This only enraged Signí more. What a piece of work this guy was! How many bigoted things could he say in one night?! Having lived in Tharbad, she was no stranger to the stereotypes humans had toward dwarves, but this was ridiculous.

“Mahizu katarukhusuh,”* she spat, kicking some dirt in his direction. She began walking back to where Thorin was sleeping.

“I-I’m sorry,” Endelin said softly, fear in his voice. “P-please don’t hex me!”

Signí turned around, amused that he actually believed she had put a curse on him. She sauntered back to where he was sitting and smirked.

“What have you done to me?” he whispered frantically.

“You’ll find out,” she said lowly. “…soon enough.”

“Take it back!” he whispered. “Please! I’m sorry! I didn’t know you could actually do that!”

She leaned forward to meet him eye to eye.

“Then you will answer my questions,” she replied menacingly. “All of them. And if I find out you have been dishonest, I will put the curse back on you again. And make no mistake; a girl always finds out.”

“Aye, I have two wives… I know it,” he sighed.

She sat beside him.

“You aren’t really going home to Weathertop, are you?” Signí asked.

“What makes you think that?” Endelin said. “You don’t believe I have a home there?”

“Aye, but it’s a bit strange to want to offer help to unfamiliar dwarves for free,” she replied. “I can plainly see you are hiding something. So why us?”

Endelin sighed, a pained look coming across his face.

“Aye, I meant to uh…” he looked away and mumbled something incoherently.

“Speak,” Signí said, irritation in her voice.

“Uh… to uh, to help you find the ol’ dwarven king,” he said. So he did know!

“To find which dwarven king?” Signí tested him.

Endelin shot her a look.

“The one ever’one is looking for,” he replied. “The one with the bounty on his head.”

“And why would we be looking for him?” Signí pressed. He squirmed uncomfortably.

“You’re Blue Mountain folk!” he replied. “I’m no idiot. Of course you’re looking for him.”

Endelin’s words made Signí realize how little-traveled the northern part of Eriador was by dwarves lately. No wonder Thorin had been so concerned about his father leaving! And no wonder the girl at the inn had treated them the way she did.

“So you think that by traveling with us, we will lead you to this dwarven king and then you can claim his bounty for yourself?” Signí asked. Her disgusted tone made him shrink back in shame.

“Two wives are expensive, eh?” she questioned him again, smirking.

“And I suppose you’d kill me if that was my motive?” he asked half-jokingly. “Anyway no. I want to help you.”

“You are lying,” she said flatly.

“I swear it!” he said, his whisper drawing to a shrill. “I don’t like travelin’ alone and I figured since you were headin’ to Weathertop too… you don’t believe me. You’d have them kill me then.”

Signí couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or this was some kind of act. It had to be an act. Why would human who had said such ignorant things about her race want to help them for nothing in return?

“Or curse you, which could be worse than being dead” she said, making his face grow pale again. “Anyway, I am not done with my questions. Who were those bandits at the inn?”

“Aye, honestly I don’t know,” he replied. “There’s all sorts of shifty folk ‘round these parts, so if I heard wind that Thorin Oakenshield was travelin’ through here, I’m sure they did too.”

“Thorin Oakenshield!” Signí whispered. Now it was her face that went pale. They’d only been gone four days! How did word get out so quickly? They truly were in danger.

“Ol’ King Thrain’s son of course…” Endelin began, but realization soon came over his face. He glanced over toward the direction of Thorin, Oín and Faldir. “So it is true! Well this is an interesting turn, indeed!”

“Where is this kin you said was hiding?” Signí now asked in an angry whisper.

“I-I don’t know now for sure…” he replied. “I only said that as a test…”

“Did you see them or not?” she grilled.

“Yes… no…” he stuttered. “Yes- I mean, my wife saw ‘em in our barn. She let them stay the night there. That was before we knew who they were. Not even a week ago.”

“And you are sure it was them?” she pressed.

“I was sure when I saw a flyer in Bree two days later,” he said. “Described exactly how my wife said ‘ey looked. It was no doubt. Somebody wants ‘em, for sure.”

Signí quickly thought out the timeline in her head. He must have seen them after the scout had left them, which would mean they had left the Ettenmoors and backtracked to Weathertop somehow. Were they trying to look for a safer path to cross the river? Were they trying to get to the High Pass? This would make their path erratic and that made no sense! 

She studied Endelin suspiciously. If he, a simple farmer, was so interested in finding their lost relatives, how many more were after them? It suddenly dawned on her that someone or something must be chasing them down! That would be the only explanation, as even Thrain in his madness would be far more calculating in his moves.

Endelin fidgeted awkwardly under Signí’s gaze. What would she do with him? He already knew too much. Thorin would be livid if he knew she was conversing with this guy like this. _But our cover is blown anyway_ , she thought, wondering again in the back of her head exactly how headhunters in Eriador had heard Thorin was passing through. She found Endelin so utterly obnoxious that she’d rather banish him from their travels entirely, but it was too dangerous now. A man like him functioned in numbers; namely, money. No, she most certainly didn’t trust he was being truthful, but she’d see to it that he stayed. Furthermore, he was going to help them, even if it meant bribery and threatening curses upon him. If this was the game he wanted to play, then she was going all in.

“You have knowledge of these lands?” she asked Endelin.

“Aye,” he replied hesitatingly.

“Then you shall honor your word. You will help us find Thrain,” she commanded to him. “If your efforts prove valuable, perhaps you might be rewarded handsomely. I can see to that.”

“I’m listening,” Endelin said. He looked straight at her, eyes sparkling in interest. 

“They are likely headed to the High Pass, and no doubt in need of replenishing food and resources at this point.” She continued.

“Aye, I might know a place,” he replied. “Not too far from here, but past Weathertop.”

“You will guide us there tomorrow then,” she said lowly. She waved her hand toward Thorin, Oín and Faldir. “We’ve no time to waste. They may not like you, but they trust your word enough for now.”

“Aye,” Endelin said solemnly.

“And our conversation here didn’t happen,” she said, abruptly standing up now.

“Miss,” Endelin said softly. She turned back and faced him. “Can ya take that curse off me now?”

“Izatâbh,”** she whispered and smirked as she lay back down next to a snoring Thorin.

***

They woke early the next morning and headed east. Weathertop was actually fairly close, but it was the getting out of the hills that was the tricky part. The ground dipped so low between earthy arches that their ponies had trouble maintaining footing at times, so they’d all have to walk beside the animals.

Endelin was oddly quiet. Signí had half expected him to run off in the night, for the information he now knew was something he could easily use against them. He seemed to move almost in fear of both her and Thorin, for he now realized who Thorin was and what Signí’s relationship with him must be as he observed them.

They paused as they reached the final hillside before the land gave way to the flat plain of Weathertop. The small, rundown village in which Endelin claimed to belong was nothing but a cluster of no more than seven or eight small farms. An old, shoddily built structure stood in a central position between them, looking like some kind of communal building. It vaguely reminded Signí of the place in Swanfleet where she’d first danced with Thorin.

Thorin turned to Endelin, expecting him to say something, but the man remained silent.

“You said you knew where dwarves were hiding,” he said lowly.

Endelin glanced nervously at Signí and then back at Thorin.

“Aye…” he began. “Follow me.”

They made their way down the earthy slope as Endelin led them across a field and past the first little farm. Grasshoppers leapt around them as they trudged through the old cropfield. Tall, dead stalks intermingled with overgrown grass. Signí didn’t know much about farming, but it seemed odd that nothing had been planted yet at this point in the season. She wondered if this place was abandoned. Endelin soon stopped before a second house and motioned at them to stay behind a tree about twenty feet away. Was this where he lived? It was very small, yet everything about it looked as if meticulously cared for. Happy, floral curtains billowed through the open windows.

The man entered the house. They stood there a few moments in silence. Signí could feel Thorin’s irritation at this whole thing. Why did they have to hide like this? Surely Endelin’s wife wouldn’t be bothered by dwarves at her house if she supposedly let them stay in her barn? Of course, that was assuming he had told the truth.

Suddenly, a woman’s screaming erupted from inside.

“You liar!” she screamed, chasing Endelin out of the house with a broom and slamming the door.

He ran down the short brick pathway, panting. The four dwarves stared back at him with uncertainty. 

“Jus’ ole marriage quarrels,” Endelin laughed nervously. “Women, ye know?”

Thorin grabbed his arm.

“I have no patience for your personal affairs,” he said scornfully. “You are wasting my time.”

Endelin slinked away from Thorin’s harsh words.

“Just o’er here,” he said softly, leading them now across the road, past the building in the center and to a path that disappeared into a patch of woods. “The only place ‘round here that takes guests!”

Signí looked at him suspiciously from behind her scarf. This didn’t seem right! The place he’d mentioned the night before was a little farther than this village, so he had claimed. And why would any kind of guest house be tucked way in a thick patch of trees, impossible to find from the road? Also, even if their relatives had been spotted just days ago, that still allowed for plenty of time for travel. For all she knew, they could be a hundred miles away at this point!

Thorin tossed her a skeptical look. Oín and Faldir followed behind with tense looks on their faces and instinctively rested their hands upon the weapons strapped in their belts.

The thicket suddenly gave way to a clearing, and a tiny house appeared before them upon a hill. The sun seemed to grow dimmer in the sky, yet there was strangely no sign of rain. Extensive crop fields stretched behind the house, fog obscuring the very ends so much so that it looked as though the fields went on forever.

“The Ettenmoors must lie beyond,” Thorin whispered to Signí, accounting for the fog. A chill ran down her spine. The temperature already seemed to shift a few degrees cooler since exiting the woods and a creepy feeling of dread began to settle in the pit of her stomach.

They came to the door and knocked. A few minutes passed by, but no one answered.

“They’re pro’bly out back!” Endelin said in a cheery voice, though he seemed nervous. He jiggled the handle of the door and it popped open easily.

Signí clutched Thorin’s arm as they stepped inside. Shock filled them all as their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room.

The shadowed outline of a corpse lay on the floor, just a few feet away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "You make me want to vomit!"
> 
> ** "You idiot."


	22. Trompe l’oeil

They found themselves in the main room. They could see it was much more neglected on the inside than it had originally looked, and everything was dark except for a lone lantern burning in one corner and the daylight weakly streaming in through the small, dusty windows. Two closed doors told them that each had another room beyond, and there was a corridor that led off to their left.

Thorin’s eyes focused on the dark mass of what looked like two legs and a heap of wrinkled clothing in the middle of the floor.

“Garreth!” Endelin exclaimed, rushing to the lifeless, shadowy figure. He rolled the man’s body over to reveal the face of the bandit who’d attacked Thorin only two days earlier.

So this was a trap! He inwardly cursed himself for following this guy against his better judgment. 

“Garreth, my boy,” Endelin exclaimed, ignoring everyone else. He draped himself over the body of his son and sobbed. “My only boy, my—”

Endelin suddenly turned to Thorin and drew the knife that had been hidden in his coat. His eyes burned angrily.

“You will pay for this, by God!” he growled and lunged. Thorin stepped back and drew his axe in return, but Oín and Faldir swiftly grabbed Endelin from behind and pinned his arms down with dwarven strength and pushed him to his knees. His dead son lay just before him, looking like some kind of twisted sacrificial offering. Endelin lurched back in an attempt to free his arms from the dwarven grip, but he succeeded only in knocking the dead boy’s arm with his leg.

A small clink was heard on the stone floor as a flash of golden light fell out of the young man's lifeless hand and rolled a few feet away.

All eyes followed the shiny object until Endelin writhed once more, managing to twist his hand enough to grab the handle of Oín’s dagger and Faldir gripped Endelin’s wrists even harder. Thorin glared at the man and they stood for a few moments in a silent standoff. He kept his eyes on him, though he was keenly aware of Signí making a fluster of odd movements behind him.

“A mole!” Signí suddenly broke her silence and shrieked, holding the shiny, metallic object in her hands. “You’re nothing but a rotten, thieving mole!”

At this outburst, Thorin instinctively stepped closer and glared down at the man with his axe half-raised in a menacing manner, though his mind wandered to his wife. What was she holding? She was acting so brazen! 

“So this was your plan?” Signí accused the man harshly, stepping next to Thorin. “To lead us into a trap all along? You must take dwarves for fools.”

Thorin gave her a quick side-glance before meeting eyes with Endelin again. He wished she would just give the object to him instead… didn’t she realize she was revealing her gender and putting herself and their whole quest in danger?

“My son is dead and it’s because of you!” Endelin roared back at Signí. “Your curse is now fulfilled… are you happy?”

Thorin looked quizzically at his wife, wondering what exactly Endelin was referring to. She didn’t seem to notice and instead narrowed her eyes at the man, as he broke free from the grips of both Faldir and Oín and lunged at her.

Endelin grabbed her wrist and squeezed so hard that the object in her hand went flying across the dark room and he nearly threw her down to the floor if it weren’t for Thorin’s protective arm catching her fall. Oín and Faldir closed in on the man, but he produced a dagger and threateneningly waved it, taking a few steps back and finding the mystery object on the floor with his foot.

“My son did not die in vain!” Endelin suddenly exclaimed, smiling and examining the object. “Our money troubles are over!” A flash of golden once again glinted toward the dwarves from the dim light of the foggy window.

Signí stepped forward, rage obviously filling her as she tried to make a dive towards Endelin, but Thorin’s arm was still around her shoulders and he stopped her.

“You needn’t bother, Missy,” Endelin addressed Signí, lazily drawing his knife again before focusing his attention back to the object. “Your efforts failed anyway.”

“Do not put yourself in danger,” Thorin calmly whispered to Signí. “I will handle this.” Whatever this object was seemed to incense her so, and a sick feeling began to well in the pit of his stomach. Furthermore, the familiarity of Endelin’s words to her bothered him. He couldn’t recall any time that Signí had even interacted with Endelin. Were these just the rantings of a crazy man? He quickly chided himself for thinking such a thought, and yet it still nagged in the back of his mind.

Oín had now positioned himself between Endelin and the door, ready to block him if necessary. The man was still examining the object as Thorin stepped closer.

“Such exquisite engraving!” Endelin whispered. “This must be the one…”

Another flash of golden glinted at Thorin’s eyes, and he realized in the faint light that Endelin was holding a ring! _It cannot be…_ he thought to himself. So it was true! His father was being hunted for his ring after all, but he knew the old dwarf would never part with it! But if he had, does this mean their relatives were no longer being hunted now? Were they safe, wherever they were? Or was his father lying dead somewhere? Anger filled him and he drew his axe again. 

“That is not yours to take,” Thorin growled at the man, stepping closer now. 

“Oh, is it because it belongs to Thrain, son of Thror?” Endelin hissed back, smirking. “And you must be his son Thorin, coming to save his father from certain death?”

“You know nothing of who I am,” Thorin replied in a quiet voice smoldering of anger and drew his axe above his head.

Endelin drew his knife in return, but Thorin brought the axe crashing down, grazing the man’s sleeve as he ducked out of the way. Seeing his chance, Faldir leapt forward and pinned the man down to the floor as Oín pried the small ring from Endelin’s fist.

“Yâsithûn Durin Nathith,”* Oín read the inscription aloud on the inside of the otherwise plain ring.

The three male dwarves all realized now why Signí was so upset. While Endelin must think it was the Dwarven ring of power, it was actually Bremir’s wedding ring! This was just as worrisome as if it had been Thrain’s ring, for a dwarf would never part with his wedding ring under any circumstances. There were no other signs of their relatives anywhere, but Endelin’s dead son was evidence that there had been a struggle of some kind. If this Garreth kid or any of his cronies had killed Bremir, no dwarf in good conscience could leave their fallen comrade behind. An even darker wave of dread passed over Thorin as he pictured his relatives: his dead brother-in-law’s body being carried across the wilderness of Eriador by Dwalin and Balin while his father was _still_ being hunted down. His aging, doddering father who spoke in murmers of things past, an easy target for anyone who might encounter them and want to do them harm.

Endelin suddenly got up from underneath Faldir with great force and lunged at Oín with his knife. Oín dodged it and Thorin grabbed Endelin from behind as Faldir grabbed his own dagger and raised it to the man’s throat.

“Not yet,” Thorin’s voice commanded. As angry as he was, he’d rather not have blood on his hands at this point in the journey. This man seemed to have many more connections than he let on, and those connections were everywhere around here. The last thing he wanted to do was put his relatives in even more danger out there, and besides that, he had his unborn dwarfling to think about as well.

“But Bremir’s death should be avenged!” Faldir said back quietly. He had a point.

Thorin glanced back toward Signí, who stood wide-eyed with arms wrapped across her torso. She wasn’t naïve by any means, but exposing her to something like this in her vulnerable state seemed wrong.

“Bring me that rope,” he commanded to her, nodding to the knotted pile made visible only by the lantern near it. She hesitated, but cautiously did as she was told.

With Faldir still holding the dagger to Endelin, Thorin began to wrap the man’s wrists tightly together.

“You na goin’ to kill me?” Endelin coughed out. “’tis no wonder you lost your great kingdom to some milksop dragon…”

Thorin stopped a moment to say something, but held his tongue. If Signí weren’t there, he’d have slaughtered the man. Somehow Endelin seemed to know this, and so he goaded him further.

“Your wife has more gurry ‘an you…” he prodded again. “Just ask her how she tried to curse me!”

This time Thorin drew his axe and stood over the man menacingly. What was his creepy obsession with Signí?

Thorin’s eyes burned back at the man’s, but he remained silent. The man smirked back, his eyes oozing nothing but hatred and amusement. If he let Endelin go, he’d put their journeys and relatives at risk because he knew too much, but if he killed him on the spot he’d be breaking Dwarven code toward Signí and he’d still be putting their journey and family at risk once word got out. Furthermore, his behavior was so suspicious: the man just seemed too eager to die.

Faldir still held the knife to the man’s throat and looked at Thorin, waiting for a signal. _Bremir’s dead_ , suddenly ran through his mind again and the thought of one of his best friends being gone, the face his beloved sister would make as the news shattered her heart, and Endelin’s vile smirk all caused an emotion so deep and raw and all too familiar to rise up within his chest like a monsoon and soon the axe in his hands came crashing down upon the man’s skull. 

Signí screamed.

***

The sky emanated a bright blue while the sun beat down upon the traveling dwarves’ shoulders. It had been two days since being in the small house in Weathertop, and they were just reaching the end of the High Pass. The road they traversed had been an easy one, for the orcs that had plagued this area in times past were still few in number from having had a great many killed off in the Battle of Azanulbizar. Journeying silently, they were on their way to the Iron Hills and were making good time, though their hearts and minds were mostly crushed. The shock of Bremir’s death hung over them and no one dared to speak of what had happened in that little house. Thorin was only partially aware of how intimidating his dark countenance was, but he was grateful to be left alone with his thoughts as they rode on. Avenging his brother-in-law’s death was the honorable thing to do, but he didn’t feel so honorable. Exposing his pregnant wife to the dangers of this whole trip was bad enough, but to kill someone directly in front of her was inexcusable, even if it was indirectly for her and their unborn’s benefit and protection.

And what of Bremir! Convoluted thoughts and feelings clouded his mind, awakening old demons and birthing new ones. Bremir was a brother to him – he couldn’t lose another one all over again! How could he even begin to break the news to Dís? She would never forgive him! Anger and bitterness filled his heart. Was a simple life in the mountains really too much to ask for? All he had wanted was a bit of happiness… a life where he and his kin could look after themselves with no worry of dragons or paying rent to humans or where their next meal would come from. 

Thorin had decided, rather rashly in Signí’s opinion, that they’d seek Dain’s assistance since it seemed their lost family was in such danger. Faldir had tried to convince Thorin that maybe searching the area between Weathertop and the High Pass a little more thoroughly would yield some results, but he had shut that down immediately. Truthfully, Thorin was terrified to be traveling with Signí like this now, as he feared Endelin’s death would only cause them to be even more hunted. If anything, they could simply stay with Dain until his father was found, and then the path back to Ered Luin could be planned more strategically. He knew the luxuries the Iron Hills offered wouldn’t appeal to her in the way they would to most dwarven ladies, but he hoped that maybe her family being there would convince her into staying there in safety. 

In all of Thorin's ruminating, he suddenly became aware of where they were, and the great Anduin rushed below the creaky wood of the Old Ford bridge. This was where their path would now lead them through dense woods, and because of their density they were more likely to encounter danger. They’d also be able to hide more easily too, of course. Thorin had traveled this way many times before on routine trips, and he knew that sticking to the road and not dallying was the safest approach.

The shade of the thick, tall trees loomed just ahead. Oín glanced at Faldir and they both awaited Thorin’s direction. It was not quite midday; they had enough time where they could charge through carrying their lanterns without stopping and reach the end of the woods just before dawn, or they could stop at a halfway point and risk being ambushed in the night. Signí’s comfort was a top priority, but he feared stopping might compromise their safety. Of course, carrying lighted lanterns would increase their visibility, but the fast pace would outweigh that, at least he hoped.

“We refresh ourselves here, then we travel straight through,” he told them all flatly as they stood on the shoreline. “No stops until we reach the Celduin.”

Signí gave him a concerned look, but said nothing as she pulled out her canteen of water to refill from the river.

“Any stopping in these woods only increases our danger,” he said softly to her and handing her his spare dagger. “I hope you will not need this, but these are not normal woods; they have an enchantment upon them. Will you be alright with us passing through like this?”

Signí shrugged and remained silent, breaking her eye contact with him and turning away. He watched as she carefully wrapped the dagger in a cloth and placed it in an interior pocket of her robe before securing her bag and jumping up on her pony and looking away from him.

This behavior was so unlike her! Suspicious thoughts pervaded his mind again over how that man had acted so familiar with her. And he seemed to know so much! She wouldn’t have given their identity away somehow, would she? He had been talking about some kind of curse… saying she’d put one on him. Of course dwarves do not usually curse things or people, and if they did they’d have to be acting under some sort of enchantment with some higher power. It was absurd! Most vexing for him of all was the fact that she also had never denied anything Endelin had said either. In fact, she’d barely spoken to Thorin at all in the last couple of days, and when she slept beside him last night she’d turned her back towards him, curling up away from him. Was she hiding something?

Of course, doubting Signí’s loyalty in any way caused an immense amount of guilt within his heart on top of already feeling horrible for what she had to witness only days before. He’d have taken her silence for anger towards him, but she didn’t seem angry at all. _She is afraid of me…_ the thought suddenly occurred to him. He mounted his own pony and looked back at her once more, but her solemn eyes only looked downward at the reigns in her hands.

***

Despite the sun still being high in sky at this time of day, the thick treetops cast a shade so dark the dwarves all felt as though they were traveling through the bizarrely wooded, dimly lit underbelly of a mountain. Innately sensing the dangers lurking around them, the ponies even seemed to quicken their pace. They rode for hours like this, keeping to the path and each eagerly awaiting the moment the narrow dirt road would lead them out of this creepy territory.

A dense fog began to appear before them. He slowed his pony a bit and motioned for the others to draw closer. Sticking to the path would be much harder now so they’d have to be very careful. The lantern had plenty of oil, but the fog would render it ineffective if it grew any thicker.

“There hasn’t been a fog like this for a long time!” Faldir remarked, for he too regularly traveled on errands to the Iron Hills as Thorin did. For a moment Thorin worried that they might have accidentally wandered a little too far north near the enchanted river. _That’s not possible,_ he thought to himself. He had taken this path many times before and there was no way that could have happened.

A strange hissing sound fluttered above, but Thorin saw only dark leaves overhead. At this point, the ponies were barely at even a trot, and if they stayed at this pace they’d lose too much time.

“Have we reached the spring?” Oín asked nervously.

“Nay, that’s a bit far off yet,” Faldir replied. He turned to Thorin. “Stopping now would be dangerous, but we are still making progress even if slowly.”

Thorin gave him a small nod. This was true, but he wondered if his wife would make it through the extra hours of travel.

Signí suddenly shrieked in disgust and Thorin turned to see that she’d pulled her hood down and was peeling clusters of stretchy white strands off her face.

Spiderwebs! But these weren’t normal spiders that resided here, he knew. He drew his axe. These were the giant, horrid creatures that resided far above them in the treetops, only coming down this low up north. It was unusual indeed, but this meant that they were in exceptionally dangerous territory and he inwardly cursed himself for the thousandth time about what a bad idea bringing Signí along for a trip like this was.

“Ride with me,” Thorin commanded her as they all stopped. His voice had a hint of passion in it, for he was both eager to keep her safe and to have her close to him again. She tethered her pony to his and hopped up behind him, drawing her hood forward again.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she whispered as they began moving again.

“I am not worried about only you,” he chided affectionately, squeezing her hand as it extended across his chest.

She gave his hand a half-hearted squeeze back. Things between them had always felt natural even at their worst, so this awkwardness between them was excruciating. He couldn’t tell at all what she was thinking.

“I – I am sorry for the other day,” he began in a throaty whisper, turning his head slightly back in her direction.

“You needn’t be,” she whispered back. She leaned her face in to nuzzle the crook of his neck and he felt her smile, though she pulled her hand away from his. She adjusted something behind him and then her head was suddenly resting on his upper back as she leaned forward into him with arms tucked into her robe. Her stance told her she must be tired, and that only further cemented his resolve to get them out of these murky woods as quickly as possible.

The dwarves rode silently on in the dense fog until Oín abruptly stopped short ahead of the rest of them.

“It’s an impasse!” he said, turning to Thorin and Faldir. A very, very large tree had fallen and was blocking the road. Its trunk was enormously tall, taller and more steeply round than anything they or their ponies would be able to climb. Each end of the tree was nearly invisible as the fog enveloped everything around them, so there was no way to tell which distance would be the shorter one if they tried to walk around it.

From having traveled this path many times before, Thorin knew it veered to the left up ahead, so he motioned they head that way around the massive trunk. They all hopped off their ponies and began to tramp through the thick brush and heavy roots jutting at their feet. The ponies clearly did not like it, but in their innate sense of fear of the place, they happily stuck by their masters’ sides.

The tree was massively long, and leafy branches began to appear. Oín stepped in a rather sticky tangle and Thorin now understood why the spiderwebs had been so low hanging: the felled tree must have brought many down with it! He rested his free hand on the handle of his axe. He knew the spiders tended to stay up high, but he’d be ready for any that strayed down here. They were nasty things, but easily handled if one took the right preparations.

“I don’t like the looks of this,” Oín said nervously. Signí glanced at him uncomfortably. They were the only two who had never traveled this way before. They all remembered the dwarfling stories of their younger days told by the big kids intended to scare the little ones, with monsters, orcs, giant spiders… but Thorin and Faldir had actually seen a thing or two. Oín was still a bit young yet, but he had shown a lot promise serving as one of the best guards in Ered Luin and studying medicine in his free time.

“Well don’t the spiders get ya in a tizzy,” Faldir teased Oín. “They’re just… oh, enormous… and have teeth that’ll gnash—“

“That’s enough,” Thorin shot Faldir a stern look. Raising panic would not do in a time like this. Even through the fog, he could see they were nearly at the end of the tree. All they had to do now was get back on the path and be on their way.

“We are nearly halfway through these woods, Oín,” Thorin said patiently. This behavior surprised Thorin, for he’d never seen the dwarf so faint-hearted before. This was one who had Durin blood in him and even at his young age, he was so well read.

“Are they- are they really so enormous?” Oín asked as they finally rounded the end of the fallen tree. 

“Aye,” Thorin replied. “But they are not smart. And you have an axe and a dagger on you. And brains.”

Just Oín’s expression relaxed, a loud hiss was heard and a black shadow engulfed them all. A huge, hairy leg landed next to Thorin in deadening _thud!_ and he instinctively drew his axe and swiped. At that moment, he also reached backwards to grab Signí’s hand and pull her close.

“Do not let go of my hood,” he said quickly, finishing off the creature just as more glowing red eyes surrounded them. In the dim light he saw Oín and Faldir each fighting some off too.

The ponies let out a collective neigh of hysteria and began to tear through the maze of leaves and tree trunks around them. Thorin hoped they were heading back to the path and finished off another massive arachnid, hacking into its fleshy middle and turning it in its side.

All was quiet again, but there would be more if they didn’t get moving soon. Faldir and Oín began to traipse their way towards the path. 

Thorin turned to Signí, but she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Husband of the Daughter of Durin"


	23. Spiderwebs and Old Enemies

Signí opened her eyes, but everything was pitch black. The air around her had a musty, stifling feel to it, which made it hard to breathe. She tried to move her arms and realized they were held down securely to her body! What’s more, she tried to kick her legs, only to realize they had been tied together too! She struggled to turn her head to look around, but she only saw the dim flicker of a light far off in the distance. Was that Thorin with the lantern? The last thing she remembered was riding on the pony with him… had she fallen off somehow?

She tried with great force to move her arms again, and her movements caused her whole body to… sway? _I must be hanging from something_ , she thought as panic began to rise in her chest. How far above the ground was she, and how could this have possibly happened? A cool breeze wafted across the skin of her face. She squinted toward the direction in which she had seen the light, but her eyes were only met with darkness now. She tried desperately to recall the events that had taken place before this – that horrible man Endelin and what had happened in the little house were things she’d rather forget, though they stood near the front of her mind. Then of course there was that whole awkward and exhausting ride into the forest… and the spiders!

She suddenly remembered how they’d been ambushed, but things were hazy beyond that. She’d stayed close to Thorin, wielding the dagger he’d given her at one of the attacking creatures, but that was all she remembered. And now here she was encased in something, bound like a mummy… with great effort she slid an arm up to her shoulder, feeling the material that surrounded her body. It was scratchy like wool, yet had an odd, sticky quality that all at once felt strangely cozy but made her want to vomit. If she closed her eyes she could slip into the most peaceful slumber…

_No!_ she thought. These webs were enchanted! They acted like some kind of tranquilizing drug, swaddling and soothing as she lay hanging in the air, waiting to become the next meal for one of these vile creatures. She slid her hand back down her side and frantically felt around for the dagger she carried, but it wasn’t there. She must have dropped it somehow!

A rustling noise suddenly made itself known behind her and she froze, helpless to do anything else. The rustling turned into a cackling hiss and the tree branch she must have been hung from shook violently with the weight of another giant arachnid. Signí closed her eyes tightly, helpless and anticipating the impending doom of the spider's teeth.

“Got one!” a voice unexpectedly yelled out. The hissing behind her head puttered into a gurgle as the branch stopped shaking and she heard a thud down below.

She opened her eyes and a torch illuminated the ground below her. Two elves were looking over the arachnid’s carcass.

“Hey!” Signí shouted down to them. She knew these were Mirkwood elves and they especially disliked her kind, but maybe she could bargain with them somehow into getting her out of this mess.

The elves looked up in her direction, one holding the torch high enough that the heat of the flame nearly grazed the webbing that encased her. The other one’s face curled into a smile.

“A hobbit in these parts?” he said to his companion, studying the side of her face and her hair as it tumbled out of her hood, for those were the only visible parts of her.

“Nay, a hobbit?” the other asked as he came even closer. “That’s rather peculiar.”

“Please – can you free me?” Signí asked. She didn’t want to correct them on their assumptions just yet, for hobbits were about the only creatures Mirkwood elves did not have any kind of pre-existing disdain for.

The first elf suddenly drew a sword and leapt up into the tree, skillfully slashing the webbing off from around Signí and catching her by the shoulders as he jumped back down. He gently set her upright on the dirt floor.

The elves looked her up and down, plainly seeing that she was not a hobbit after all. 

“Where are you traveling?” the elf with the torch asked her suspiciously.

“To the Iron Hills,” she replied, her hands on her hips. They were intimidating, but she refused to let them know it.

The elves talked lowly between themselves in another language, and Signí glared at them. They were dressed rather plainly, in shades of brown and green and with sturdy boots and arrows on their backs. They were obviously in some type of hunting gear.

“We don’t see your kind too often anymore,” the elf with the torch now addressed her. He was obviously referencing the absence of Erebor dwarves, for the mountain lay not far from their realm.

“And a lady-dwarf at that!” the other elf exclaimed. “You must have been traveling with a company and got lost?”

Signí wasn’t sure if divulging her situation would help or hinder, so she remained silent a moment. Could she trust them? She had no idea where Thorin was and she’d need help getting out of these woods, for she had never traveled them before.

“And you say you're going to the Iron Hills?” the elf with the torch asked her, still suspicious after her quiet pause.

“Aye,” she replied. 

“And you have companions?” the elf pressed.

“Aye,” she said softly. 

“Who is your company?” he inquired further. “Are you traveling from the Blue Mountains? I hear the old mountain king’s son has started some kind of post there.”

“It's a routine trip… I just need to find them,” she replied quickly, dodging his questions. “Will you help?” After having met Lindir, she knew these elves were quite civilized and would usually rather respond to a reasonable plea for assistance than attack. Of course, that’s not to say they were on overly friendly terms with her either.

“A routine trip…” the elf repeated skeptically.

“It is the easiest path to the Iron Hills,” the other elf reasoned. The first elf seemed annoyed by this.

“Aye,” Signí said, more confidently now. “Now please, I must find them before they wander too far.”

“We can take you to the forest edge, but no more,” the elf said. Panic rose within Signí’s chest, but she tried to hide it. She knew the peaks of the Iron Hills would be visible, but she’d never been there before and the thought of traveling alone terrified her.

“We will take the path, and that’s where you will find your company… if they have any sense of course,” he continued, sensing her anxiety.

Signí bowed a thank you and followed them through the thick brush. She held her head high and proud. _I don’t need some silly elf’s help past these woods anyway_ , she thought to herself. Their torch was so bright she was sure Thorin would see them.

Hours passed and she was certain nightfall had long arrived, though it was impossible to tell in these dark woods anyway. The second elf had kindly shared some carrots with her, and she offered some of the remaining bread in her bag in return. The elf with the torch wanted nothing to do with niceties and had ignored her attempt of affability.

“We don’t trust many creatures,” the kind elf said softly as the other one walked ahead. “We fend for ourselves mostly, and we do well by it. How old are you?”

His question caught Signí off guard.

“Ninety,” she replied.

“You must have just been a dwarfling when it happened,” he replied, a soft look of understanding in his eyes.

“Aye,” she said, realizing he was talking about the dragon. It was weird to have an elf speak of such things in this manner, but she realized that foul creature had impacted them too, even if indirectly.

“Our race would be too proud to say it, but we had much to benefit with wealthy neighbors beside us,” he whispered. “Our trading is not so strong now…”

Signí smiled back. She appreciated the sentiment, but she also remembered how in those days the elven king had refused to offer any assistance as they fleed from the burning mountain. Still, this elf was kind, just as Lindir had been. She wondered why elves and dwarves even hated each other so in the first place. It seemed they could benefit so much more from a friendship, especially since they seemed to have mutual enemies.

“Our races were born to hate each other,” the elf seemed to read her mind. “It seems a silly reason for that, aye?”

The elf with the torch suddenly halted and turned around to glare at them both.

“You carry on in nonsense!” he chastised them. “Something is following us.”

A wave of dread passed over Signí. More spiders? Or some other awful thing? Why hadn’t they found Thorin yet?

The elf stamped the torch out and whisked them beneath a tall bush. The air around them was silent. They sat there for what felt like forever until the kind elf spoke.

“It must have passed,” he whispered. “Who would be following us here? The spiders are afraid of elves.”

The three of them slowly emerged from the bush. It was still quiet.

“I’m inclined to think it might have something to do with this little… liability here,” the other elf scoffed.

Signí’s cheeks burned.

“Dwarves are more civilized than you think! My company would not ambush you,” she replied tersely. The air around them was beginning to lighten from pitch black to a softer blue fog, signaling that both sunrise and the edge of the forest were closer than Signí had realized.

Just as she said this, an axe flew past the first elf’s head and landed stuck in a nearby tree trunk. Oín appeared and no sooner had he wrapped the kind elf’s wrists in rope, he shouted to Thorin and Faldir.

The first elf had now drawn an arrow and pointed it toward Thorin’s face. Signí’s heart leapt into her throat.

“Untie his hands!” she demanded of Oín.

“Put the arrow down first,” Faldir snarled to the first elf.

“You heard her – untie him,” the first elf glared back. “Do not think I won’t shoot this.”

Thorin glared too, and they all stood at an impasse, each refusing to bend to the will of the other side.


	24. Family Ties, Part 1

Signí stepped between Thorin and the elf, with the pointed arrow now facing the back of her head. Eyes meeting her husband’s, she squinted at him and crossed her arms angrily. How dare he and Oín and Faldir attack these elves like this and make her look like a fool!

“Let him go,” Thorin finally drawled to Oín, his voice deep and deliberate. “We’ve no use for a fight right now.”

The elf with the arrow relaxed his stance as his companion was freed. The two elves spoke in another language and then studied the dwarves a moment.

“We shall escort you to the edge of the woods,” the first elf finally declared.

“I have traveled this path before,” Thorin replied gruffly. “We do not need your help.”

“Then we will follow you,” the elf snapped back. “You need not flatter yourself, for helping you is not our aim.”

Thorin glared but acquiesced. As they began moving, Signí glanced back to the elf that had spoken so kindly to her just an hour before, but he now avoided her eyes. She looked forward again, feeling as though she’d been slapped across the cheek. Her face reddened in anger. This could have been the perfect opportunity to make at least a little bit of an alliance! The elves were cunning and knew these lands well. They could have helped with finding Thrain and Dwalin and Balin!

Signí felt Thorin's gaze sweep across her, but she pretended to ignore it. She was angry with him. 

“I thought I had lost you for good,” Thorin’s husky voice hissed with fervor into her ear. He clutched her arm in a stilted attempt at affection, fueled by passion and yet hesitant to display such vulnerability in front of the elves behind them.

“Those elves saved my life, you know,” she whispered back harshly. “Then you had to go and attack them.”

He opened his mouth in a reply but then let her arm go, silently glaring ahead once more. She knew he’d never apologize or thank any Mirkwood elf. Their king was Thranduil, and Thranduil was one of the reasons his people had wandered and suffered for so long after the dragon had come. 

The sweet brightness of daylight began to grow around them as they reached the edge of the woods. The dirt path lined with overgrown tree roots soon gave way to a craggy terrain interspersed with tufts of thick green grass as the Celduin rushed by not far off. The sun was already high in the sky, but the morning was still young. Signí looked around hoping the ponies had stayed on the path and found their way out.

“The ponies are probably halfway to Redwater, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Faldir said to her. He’d been hoping they’d show up too.

“Let’s not waste time,” Thorin cut in. The elves had stayed about twenty feet behind the dwarves as they traveled the path, but now they stood back under the eaves watching like sentinels. He charged forward and the other three had no choice but to follow.

They wandered in silence for about an hour, Oín and Signí blindly following Thorin and Faldir, until Thorin stopped them all at the top of a very large hill. She looked to Oín, for neither had any idea of where they might be. Thorin and Faldir stood quietly staring ahead. Suddenly realizing the gravity of what they were looking at, Oín removed his hood and bowed.

Signí gasped and brought a hand over her heart and bit her lip. There stood Erebor, far off in the distance. The rocky exterior glimmered in the sunlight just as it must have since Durin had first awoken. The still and warm summer air with the peaceful lake below gave no hint that a dragon might be lurking behind those very walls. It seemed so cruel that the world should appear to continue in this way, as though nothing had ever happened those many years ago.

Signí stumbled to where Thorin stood.

“Inkhiri,”* Thorin said softly, turning his head to avoid her gaze. His deep blue eyes were tempestuous, but he blocked any connection she attempted and instead made his way down the hill alone in deliberate steps.

Oín and Faldir followed suit, wordless, and cloud of sadness lingered over them as they traveled the great plain, their destination now not very far off.

***

“And what be ye—oh!” a fat, blond dwarf stuttered as the four dwarves approached the entrance gate to the Iron Hills. Thorin had pulled his hood back without a word and the guard instantly recognized him.

They were quickly escorted into the dark and busy halls, and Signí rubbed her eyes in an attempt to make them adjust faster from having been in the bright sunlight just a moment before. After a set of stairs, two sharp turns, and nearly bumping into a vendor selling scarves, Signí was suddenly guided into a quieter hall by Thorin’s strong arm.

“I must meet with Dain, but you can rest now,” he said gently, though she detected something odd and unfamiliar in his tone.

They reached a room where a young dwarrowess dressed in a uniform smiled warmly. 

“Take care that word does not get out yet,” Thorin said to her sternly. Her smile fell and she gave a small serious bow in reply.

Thorin hesitated a moment. He smiled at Signí affectionately, though he didn’t wait for anything in return from her before he abruptly disappeared down the corridor.

The girl looked around and ushered Signí into the room, cautiously closing the door behind them.

The walls were painted and carved in the most ornate manner, with large stone columns framing each corner. There were no windows, but a chandelier of about thirty candles hung from the ceiling while a canopy of sheer fabric was beautifully draped around the frame of a huge bed along the farthest wall. A fire built into the stone adjacent to the bed was the only other source of light, and it crackled softly. A door to a small, darkened room stood behind Signí, and she surmised that it must be the bath and toilet.

“’Tis a pleasure, Uzhuni**” the girl curtsied to Signí. She stood awaiting some kind of command.

Signí bowed back and the girl shifted uncomfortably, obviously not used to being regarded as an equal. Things here were certainly different than back home and Signí wasn’t used to this kind of treatment. 

“Please— “ Signí said, extending her palm to the girl. “Forgive me. We are not so formal in Ered Luin.”

The girl bowed once more and blushed, unsure of what to do next.

“What is your name?” Signí asked, smiling now at her awkwardness. The girl was just a little bit younger than she was and reminded Signí of herself at that age. She had a mess of curly blonde hair that reached down her face in dainty sideburns. Her eyes were large and brown and innocent, and seemed to express every emotion she felt whether she liked it or not. She had a nose that was just a little too large for her face, but it only seemed to add to her girlish charm.

“I am Natti,” said the girl.

“And I am Signí,” she replied. She unlaced the collar of her traveling robe and before she could refuse, Natti reached to help her take the whole thing off. She looked down. After all those days on the road, her dress wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, save for some dirt caked around the hemline. She was certain she didn’t smell very pleasant though, as her last bath had been almost a week ago in Bree!

“I brought some clean gowns – right over there – I wasn’t sure if – “ the girl stammered.

A knock on the door startled them both, and Natti opened it and immediately bowed. A dwarowess stepped forward regally. Her hourglass figure was dressed in a gown of dark green accented by flecks of gold, and her long, red hair cascaded over her shoulders in intricate braiding. A sapphire necklace of the deepest blue that Signí had ever seen sat in the middle of the lady-dwarf’s delicate collarbones.

“Welcome to our halls,” the lady said warmly, offering her hand. This was Unna, Dain’s wife. Signí had never actually met her before, for Dain and Unna had not been able to attend her wedding with Thorin.

“Thank you,” Signí replied, meeting Unna’s hand with her own, though embarrassment flooded her as she stood before this lady in the state she was in.

“We will be serving a luncheon next hour,” Unna went on. “Natti, see to it that she is comfortable and ready for a meal in our hall.”

A panicked look clouded Natti’s face.

"Zirak*** Thorin said to not let word get out yet,” she said softly.

“Oh nonsense!” Unna waved her hand in a dismissive manner. “After traveling all this way, she must have some food! And Dain will want to finally meet his new cousin-in-law!”

Signí now stood awkwardly, unsure of what to say. The last thing she wanted to do at the moment was sit in a loud, boisterous hall filled with dwarves she was obligated to talk to. Thorin’s comment had been weird, but was that just his normal protectiveness, or did he know something else? Here they were safe and among their own race, so there was no immediate need to hide. And if rumor hadn’t spread of a Thorin Oakenshield sighting in Bree or Weathertop, then word was certainly out among any dwarf travelers to or from the Blue Mountains. They had now been gone long enough where it would be noticeable.

“Honestly, I’m very tired,” Signí said, much to Natti’s relief. “The roads were not so good and there were spiders and well– “

“Oh, how dreadful!” Unna exclaimed. “You must get rest then.” She gestured something to Natti and the girl disappeared through the door.

“Thank you,” Signí gave a slight bow. Unna watched her a moment, her gaze sweeping over Signí until it landed on her small, growing belly and the look in dwarrowess’ eyes changed. Instinctively, Signí’s arms rose to her torso where she crossed them.

“Yes, please rest, and then I hope you’ll join us for breakfast tomorrow,” Unna said in a polite, yet slightly colder tone before closing the door again, leaving Signí all by herself.

 

She kicked off her boots and set them by the door. They too were caked in dirt and had remnants of spiderwebs caught in the laces. She shuddered thinking of those horrifying creatures, but then the thought of how those elves had saved her life came to mind and anger washed over her at how Thorin had attacked them. All of the events over the last few days were so overwhelming, she wasn’t even sure how to process it all.

Signí sat on the bed, lost in thought for a moment as the events over the past two weeks played out again in her head. She wondered what Dís was doing that very moment. _And she has no idea about Bremir!_ She winced and leaned forward, resting her face in her hands. This whole situation was horrible.

Natti had arrived once more and upon seeing Signí with her head down, she’d quietly drawn her a warm bath. She was nearly out the door again when Signí looked up.

“Thank you, Natti,” she said softly. 

“I – I brought you a hot cocoa,” the girl stumbled over her words. “My mumma always made that for me when I wasn’t feeling well – I mean – not that you are sick – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t assume…”

“I haven’t had cocoa since I was a dwarfling,” Signí smiled, touched at the girl’s thoughtfulness.

Natti stood by the door and fumbled with the knob for a moment before giving an awkward curtsy and disappearing.

***

Signí wrapped the soft robe around her body, freshly braided hair still damp from her bath.

The cocoa was still warm and just the perfect ratio of chocolatey bitterness and creamy sweetness. It was exactly what she needed. She took another sip and set the cup down on the nightstand before leaning back into the soft fluffiness of the down pillows behind her. The heavy wooden posts of the enormous bed that loomed above her were a contrast to the sheer and airy curtains that now swept around her, illumined by the soft orange of the waning fire. In any other circumstance, the scene would be downright romantic. The room around her was largely silent though, save for the occasional staticky flicker of the candle as it picked up on some unfelt breeze in the air. Her body ached in exhaustion.

Thorin was not back yet, and the room would have been even lonelier if she wasn’t so fatigued.

***

Signí woke with a start. The candle beside the bed had been burnt out for quite some time and the fire emitted only a dim orange from the warm embers. How long had she been sleeping?

She sat up in the bed. It had to be in the early morning hours, but she wasn’t exactly sure as there were no windows and the room didn’t seem to have a clock. Her stomach growled. She must have slept all day, but that wasn’t really a surprise considering everything. As her feet hit the floor, the chill of the stone beneath the woven fabric rug reached her toes. She tiptoed her way to the door and carefully opened it, but the hall outside was completely dark save for one lit torch far down to her left. The whole mountain must be asleep! Where was Thorin?

She stumbled toward the nightstand in the dim light. The nearly empty cup of cocoa had grown cold, but someone had also put a plate of bread and butter there while she’d been asleep. She wolfed it down.

Signí leaned back into the pillows, but her mind only raced more and her belly growled again. After all the sleeping she’d done, there was no way she could go back to bed now. She stood up and looked around. _Where in Mahal’s name is Thorin?_ Natti had laid out a pair of house-shoes earlier and she slipped them on. She gave out a great sigh, wrapped her robe around herself more securely, and walked out the door, more on impulse than with any real intent.

The torch she’d seen earlier in the darkened hall had gone out, but soft light emanated from further down and she followed it. The ornate carvings on the walls became more visible as she approached, and she realized the stream of brightness was actually sunlight pouring in through a delved tunnel in the rock. So it was morning and much later than she thought!

A shuffling noise suddenly came from further down the hall and Signí dashed back toward her room. 

“Uzhuni,” Natti’s voice startled her from behind. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to wake you sooner.”

“Aye, it’s alright,” Signí said quickly. She was relieved it was only Natti.

“You’re wanted for breakfast,” Natti continued as they entered the room. “I brought some dresses for you to wear.”

Three gowns had been spread out upon the bed, and Signí gasped at how ornate they were. They were stunning. As a seamstress, she could easily have made them herself, but they were far more flamboyant than what she was used to.

“These… for a breakfast?” she asked, incredulous.

“Uzhuni Unna prefers a formal breakfast,” Natti said, then quickly looked behind her before whispering, “… and she is very particular about her breakfasts.”

Signí examined a dress made of sparkly golden material. Tiny jewels were intricately woven into a material that was so fine and silk-like that it could have passed for mithril. 

“Very formal indeed,” she muttered as she held it up to her torso. The empire waist would work perfectly. “Is… is this silk?”

“Aye, the finest silk,” Natti smiled. “Master Anvari’s work.”

“Anvari?” Signí smirked. Of course this was her father’s creation!

“An Anvari is the finest you can buy here…” Natti explained, but Signí laughed.

“Anvari is my father,” she replied, also realizing her parents still had no idea she was here yet.

Natti looked back at Signí wide-eyed.

“Oh please, he is not that much of a celebrity here, is he?” she laughed again. She was secretly pleased though, for this meant that everything her parents had given up in Tharbad had been worth it to come here.

Natti’s face remained solemn and looked as though she was going to cry.

“Excuse me… I will leave you to dress,” the girl said quietly, and she turned toward the door.

“Wait – “ Signí stopped her. “Don’t go yet. I didn’t mean to – “

Natti hesitated a moment; she appeared to have something she wanted to say but was afraid to open her mouth. 

“I always wanted to apprentice to be a seamstress, but I’m not allowed,” she said softly. “Excuse me.”

Natti helped Signí pull off her nightgown and into the golden dress.

“Why can’t you apprentice?” Signí asked. This girl must be even younger than she thought!

“My family owes a debt, and I am in servitude to pay it back,” Natti replied. Her face flushed.

“Your family owes Dain?” Signí was confused. A dwarven ruler did not place debts on his subjects outside of taxes meant to benefit everyone, for that would be highly immoral.

“Nay, I am not employed by Dain,” Natti explained as she began to tie the back of Signí’s bodice. Signí stared into the mirror before her. The gown embraced her shape beautifully, and the golden color stood a stunning contrast to her dark hair. She felt as though she were headed to a ball rather than a breakfast!

“I work for Uzhuni Unna’s lady, Kamma.”

“Aye,” Signí said stupidly, for she instantly recognized Kamma’s name. She’d actually forgotten that Kamma had come to the Iron Hills after the whole debacle with Thorin.

“And how long have you been in Kamma’s servitude?” she continued, not even bothering to hide the disgust in her voice.

“Twenty-six years,” the girl said softly. 

Natti explained that her father had died in the Battle of Azanulbizar a month before she was born. No longer being able to stay in their home or able to afford food, she and her mother moved in to her uncle’s house. However, her uncle had been away fighting in the war too, and when word came back that he had died, Natti’s mother took up a cleaning job to make ends meet. Just as things seemed stable and Natti had grown into a dwarfling, they received a notice for delinquent rent and learned that the house they’d been living in was actually owned by a dwarf who’d been living in Ered Luin. That dwarf happened to be Kamma’s father. Her mother tried to reason with the dwarf and work out an arrangement to pay it off and buy the house from him, but he declined every offer and instead demanded that Natti work for his family in the Blue Mountains.

“My mother accepted because it was to be an apprenticeship for cooking and housekeeping,” Natti explained. “Those skills are always useful. At first I worked with another housekeeper who worked for them, but when Kamma wasn’t going to– well, when the family moved back here, I kind of became Kamma’s personal slave. My mum doesn’t even have that house anymore either. She just works as live-in housekeep in Ered Luin. I’ve nowhere to go anymore now and no family, so I stay here.”

What an outrage! Twenty-six years seemed an awfully long sentence to cast upon a dwarrowess so young, especially if being a housemaid was not even her chosen job as she neared adulthood. Signí also realized that Natti must have been there all along during all of that azlâf drama, even if she might have been too young at the time to fully understand.

“Anyway, Uzhuni, we must get going – “ Natti started.

“Please, I am not _Uzhuni_ ,” Signí replied. “Just call me Signí.” She smiled at the girl, though her anger at the situation was evident.

They soon headed out the door and Signí followed Natti’s lead. The corridor was now fully lit with torches and, still feeling silly at being so fancifully dressed so early in the day, Signí took extra care to not let the fine material of her skirt drag too much along the floor.

“Is this a ladies only breakfast?” Signí whispered to Natti, for she was still wondering where Thorin was.

Natti didn’t have a chance to answer her question though, for they’d come upon two large, heavy wooden doors and a surly guard holding one open for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Come away"  
> ** "Great Lady" (the formal way to address the wife of a prince or king)  
> *** "Master"


	25. Family Ties, Part 2

~Earlier that morning~

 

“Ye know for sure they are being hunted?” Dain asked again. Thorin’s arrival was unexpected, catching him off-guard with an emergency such as this. “Ya don’ think they are trying to enter the mountain, do ye?”

“I fear they have yet to make it there,” Thorin replied. His voice was dark and serious.

“A folly mission!” Dain exclaimed after a moment of pause. His eyes darted around the small room he’d been using for an office. It was in here that he conducted his most confidential business for the Iron Hills as well as where he often escaped when things became too stressful and he needed to be alone. It was the most logical place to go after he'd learned his cousin had arrived like this. It was comfortable, with warm wooden paneling insulating them from the cold stone walls, two overfilled bookshelves and a window that looked out over the land leading up to the front gate. A ceramic carafe of hot coffee sat on a table next to a pair of leather-covered armchairs, while various axes and hammers hung from the ceiling.

“Do you think I did not try to stop this?” Thorin retorted, growing irritated. They’d already lost so much time and here his cousin seemed more concerned with criticizing what had already transpired than with helping. He knew coming here like this would be met with trepidation, but the situation was dire and he had no choice. Dain had been out hunting when they’d first arrived and so Thorin had wandered the halls like a stranger for hours. Signí had been sleeping anyway, and he needed to be alone.

But being alone didn’t alleviate anything. In fact, the more he wandered, the worse he felt. He’d walked all the way to the outer edge of the mountain range where only a few dwarves made their homes, then through the forge and back to check on still-sleeping Signí. As he left her and wandered down the hall he’d heard a voice.

“You haven’t been back in a while,” came her words. It was Kamma.

He turned around and lowered his hood in dread. This was not the time.

“Forgive me if it is improper, but can’t you say hello to an old friend?” she spoke in a gravelly whisper in the dim hallway. “You needn’t worry, no one else is around.”

“Aye, and farewell,” he replied brusquely. He pulled his hood up and began walking once more, but she stopped him, catching up to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. He sighed.

“We came to an agreement,” he said, an exasperated tone in his voice.

“And you broke a promise,” she hissed back. “I cannot ever forget it. I have suffered greatly, watching you always… and then now seeing her!”

“I have made no such pledge to you,” he whispered angrily. He was a bit disturbed that she’d seen Signí already, for he thought he and the guard had acted quickly enough to get her safely to their room for the time being. 

He took another step, but she blocked him, standing directly in his path with her face only inches from his. He stood a moment more, wishing he could strike her away but touching a female like that would be unfathomable. He sighed again.

“My father assured you would be taken care of for life,” he said. “You have one of the most coveted positions in the Iron Hills. You are free to choose another; nothing binds you to me.”

Though his words were of reason and were meant to pacify her anger, they did the opposite. Wild-eyed, she grabbed his arms and threw her head into his chest and gave out a shriek. Thorin feared someone would hear this and think he had more egregious intentions with her.

“I cannot, will not…” she sputtered. Her body shook as she gripped the flesh of his forearms with unexpected strength. After a moment, she took a deep breath and suddenly seemed very calm and let him go.

“I wish you well,” he said gently, for he did feel sorry for her. He too was no stranger to the heartbreak of waiting for something that would never come. She ignored his words though, and began to walk away before suddenly turning around again.

“She will never give you an heir,” she said darkly before disappearing down the hallway.

 

“Aye, Erebor!” Dain said suddenly, forcing Thorin’s thoughts back into the present. Dain sighed heavily and ran a few fingers through his fiery red beard. Not only had he lost his own father in the Battle of Azanulbizar, he’d been the one to tell Thrain at the time that there was no reclaiming Moria with the balrog still there. Thrain had been so foolishly stubborn then, so it was no surprise that he now had his sights on Erebor.

“There’s a hunting party leaving in a bit. They go far; I will send word so they might keep ‘eir eyes open,” he said after a moment. He called to one of his guards in the busy hall outside and reappeared a few moments later. “My men leave no stone unturned,” Dain forced a reassuring smile, for the look on Thorin’s face was dark.

Thorin sighed and sat down on one of the chairs as Dain watched him.

“I have brought Signí,” he said quietly to Dain. “I must know that she will be safe and well-cared for here.”

“Aye, of course…” Dain replied. He pulled out two mugs and filled them with coffee.

“I have committed a transgression,” Thorin continued. “In bringing her here, I have exposed her to significant danger.”

Dain looked at his cousin strangely, and then placed one of the mugs in front of him.

“The roads are dang’rous to be sure,” Dain replied. “But none so dang’rous any more than they e’er been. Our kind has been hunted down for ages! That’s why we carry axes.”

Dain didn’t get it. Nobody knew about Signí’s pregnancy except those closest in Ered Luin. Of course, everyone would find out here in the next couple of days. She’d be expected to visit with Dain’s wife and she was at the point now where she was showing through her clothes. If she wore that _sakadiki-nikud_ all the time, well… that’d just be weird. And though he dismissed Kamma’s bitter crazy-talk, it still bothered him. Even if they held no weight, words against his firstborn were deeply offensive.

Thorin took a gulp of coffee. _What does it all matter anyway?_ he thought. His anger subsided into a pool of powerlessness for a moment. Every attempt he’d made at rectifying anything over the last month or so only seemed to blow up in his face. He’d certainly get flack for bringing along Signí in the state she was in, but that was the least of his worries right now.

“My Uncle was an old dwarf the last time I saw ‘im,” Dain continued, attempting to reassure Thorin. “They cannae have gotten very far.”

Thorin took another swig of the coffee and looked at his cousin sharply. Of course he didn’t understand. He didn’t know what it was like to lose his only home and carry an undeserved curse and watch as each generation before him slowly succumbed to dragon sickness. The ring of Durin had not been passed down in his line, and coincidentally or not, the madness had not seemed to run in his genes either. He did not know the feeling of having someone look at him in pity, as if estimating the days he had left until he too would be eaten alive by this mental cancer. But would Dain believe him if he even tried to explain it? 

“Cousin, things are not so simple,” Thorin said darkly.

Dain’s face grew serious and his eyes rested upon Thorin.

Thorin inhaled sharply, quelling any emotion or irrational thought and pushing it far into the back of his mind. He reached into the chest pocket of his tunic and pulled out Bremir’s wedding ring, leaving it on his outstretched hand before Dain without a word.

Dain took the ring and inspected it, giving Thorin a puzzled look.

“Bremir,” Thorin replied, sadness cracking the flatness of his voice.

Dain’s eyes widened and he covered his face with his hands for a moment, fully realizing the implications of such a find. They sat in silence for a little while.

“Let us go to breakfast,” Dain finally said. “Then we can search near the Lonely Mountain together.”

***

“Idmi!”* Signí heard exclaimed toward her as her eyes adjusted from the darkness of the hall to the bright room. Daylight streamed in through three large, open windows. It was her first time meeting him, but she knew this must be Dain. He had stood and was now taking her hand to lead her to her seat as Natti disappeared through another doorway.

“It is nice to finally meet ye,” he remarked, giving her a polite bow. She responded with a small curtsy in return. As she turned, Thorin stood next to her and gave her a half-smile before sitting down again. She studied him a moment and noticed how awful he looked. His braids were intact, but his wavy hair was a tangled mess and he still wore the same dark blue tunic he’d traveled in, though she was relieved that he at least didn’t have his dirtied robe on too. This was so very unlike him! He had a vain streak about him, and she’d never seen him this careless about his appearance before.

“Medrûnat!”** Dain exclaimed to everyone, and Signí’s attentions were pulled away from Thorin.

The table was a long oval covered with more food than she’d ever seen aside from at a wedding, and more dwarves than she had expected were seated around it. Stacks of pancakes, several types of sausages and bacon, plates of fruit both fresh and candied, potatoes and so much more clustered around the center, and everyone began filling the silver plates and cups that were before them. She recognized Unna with Dain beside her. Next to them sat two dwarves in uniforms with patterned hoods that she knew signaled they were close royal aides, while Oin and Faldir were seated next.

“A congratulations is in order for you both,” an older dwarrowess suddenly addressed Signí. She had a striking resemblance to Unna, and Signí surmised that she and the dwarf next to her must be Unna’s parents.

“Aye, thank you,” Thorin replied curtly. “Not that we have announced anything yet.” Signí realized the lady-dwarf was referring to her pregnancy.

The dwarrowess looked to Unna with a shocked expression on her face.

“My cousin has much on his mind,” Dain spoke up apologetically. “His behavior is not without reason.”

The other dwarves changed the subject and talked amongst themselves. Signí looked up again, catching the glaring eye of Kamma, whom she now noticed was seated between Unna and Unna’s mother. She froze at first, awkwardly looking down at the uneaten food on her plate. She knew she was bound to run into her at some point since hearing Natti’s story, but she hadn’t realized that Kamma and Unna were so close. Kamma was clearly Unna’s _dashuninh_ , her first and foremost lady-in-waiting. While technically a rank of servant, a _dashuninh_ in royal Dwarven culture is more like family. Kamma’s job was not only to keep Unna’s affairs organized, she also hardly ever left her side. This job was one of prestige and held a certain amount of power, for it meant she often oversaw the servants ranked below her and that she was part of the royal court and attended every function Unna did. _No wonder she’d left Ered Luin without much complaint_ , Signí thought to herself. Still, a dwarrowess in love (like she had claimed to be) wasn’t someone who forgot things so easily.

“You are lovely this morning,” Thorin said to Signí softly, disrupting her thoughts.

She glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow. Was this his way of alleviating the awkwardness of this situation?

“Where have you been?” she shot back, though her voice was low enough for only him to hear.

Before he could answer though, a guard walked in.

“The hunting party is leaving now,” he announced.

“Hunting?” Unna turned to Dain, a tone of annoyance in her voice. “But it’s breakfast!” He said something inaudible to her and she glanced over at Thorin.

Dain, his two aides, Faldir and Oin stood, and so did Thorin. Signí looked up, her eyes questioning.

“We will be back before dark,” he whispered as he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

 

Signí was now left at the table with Unna, Unna’s parents and Kamma. She felt strangely like some exotic creature on display, as all four dwarves’ eyes seemed to burn into her from across the table. Irritation with Thorin crept in for his leaving her so abruptly like this and still with no explanation for the night before.

“I know Thrain hasn’t turned up yet, but is Thorin well?” Unna asked Signí. 

“Aye, as well as he can be,” Signí replied. She suddenly felt protective of him. She realized they must not know the extent of things quite yet, but she still bristled at any kind of insinuation of the madness that seemed to run in his family.

“Quite bold of Thorin to bring you on such an adventure,” Unna continued. Signí couldn’t tell if she was just trying to make conversation or if this was something more passive-aggressive.

“Especially in a state like that,” Kamma chimed in under her breath, but Signí heard it and glared back in silence. Kamma’s dress was just as fancy as the one Signí wore, and it had the same finely embroidered pattern along the neckline that Unna’s dress had. _I wonder if she too is wearing a dress made by my father as she says such things to me_ , she thought cynically.

Signí’s cheeks flushed. After all they had gone through in searching for her father-in-law, she refused to sit and be shamed for it. Kamma seemed to soak it up though and she twirled a lock of curly hair around a finger and fake-smiled.

“We are not so haphazard when it comes to ensuring the safety of our next-in-line,” Unna’s mother said. She turned to Unna. “If only we had a next-in-line.”

“Mother!” Unna exclaimed. Now she was incensed as well.

“This journey was my idea,” Signí spoke up, her temper flaring. “…but if you asked him, he’d take all responsibility because he has honor and would have no part in bringing shame upon those he loves.”

At this, Signí rose from the table and left the room, not bothering to wait for any kind of response from them. Once in the hall, she took off running in the direction Natti had led her from. Truthfully, she had no idea what she’d do when got back to that room. She simply wanted to be as far away from Kamma and Unna as she could, and she wanted out of that dress and out of this mountain and all of its formalities and silly customs. She didn’t realize until then just how much she loved her life of exile with Thorin. She’d spent so many years away from Erebor that she had convinced herself that that was somehow the ideal life, the life she and many others would go back to if they had the chance. Of course, she knew it was not possible to reclaim the Lonely Mountain, but somehow Thrain’s desire to go back had become a symbol for what many in Ered Luin subconsciously wished for. At any rate, the Iron Hills were arguably the closest thing to Erebor as one could get these days and she found everything deplorable. Here, they had access to every Dwarven luxury they could want and more, but that didn’t guarantee happiness. If only they were back home again! If only none of this had ever happened and Bremir was still alive and they were all safe and living their simple, merry lives. She vowed to never take another thing at Ered Luin for granted again. 

Signí reached the hall where her room was located and found Natti carrying a basket.

“Uzhu- I mean, Signí,” Natti’s voice was surprised. “I was just drying your robes. You are back from breakfast early- is everything all right?”

“How can you stand working for these dwarves?!” the words left Signí’s mouth before she could stop them. She instantly regretted it, for Natti had no control over her situation and speaking badly to a servant about Thorin’s relations was not exactly appropriate.

Natti blushed, but stayed quiet.

“I – forgive me,” Signí said softly.

“You say what I cannot,” Natti half-smiled.

Signí took her now clean _sakadiki-nikud_ from the basket and began to fold it. An idea flashed across her mind.

“Natti, have you ever ridden a pony before?” she asked the girl.

***

Thorin pulled the reigns to slow down and he looked behind him. Two dwarves on ponies were racing top speed to catch up to them. He looked to Dain, who had also slowed and he shrugged.

The rest of the hunting party had all gone ahead for a more thorough search around the western part of the mountain, but Thorin and Dain had planned to ride north for a while before meeting back up with them again. He wondered if they had found something.

The dwarves grew closer and Thorin and Dain realized they were unfamiliar.

“We’ve come to help,” came Signí’s voice, and she pushed back her face covering and smiled mischievously.

Dain chuckled and shook his head.

“And who is this?” Thorin asked, pointing to her companion. The dwarf pulled her face covering aside and revealed she was Natti.

“This is too dangerous,” Thorin admonished her. He would have none of this. How could she be so careless? She was supposed to be visiting with Unna or her own parents… anything but being pregnant on a pony and out in the wilderness!

“’Tis not so dan’grous in these lands,” Dain said to Thorin. “Mirkwood would have been far more so.”

Thorin glared at him, but he had a point. And besides, he’d already learned the first time that there was no stopping her when she had her mind already set up like this.

Signí and Natti both quickened their ponies’ pace and Dain and Thorin followed. Thorin caught up to Signí.

“Who gave you access to these ponies?” he asked.

“Me,” Signí said, looking ahead.

“So you’ve stolen not only two of Dain’s ponies, but you have also abducted the servant of Unna’s _dashuninh_?” he pressed, smirking.

“Of course,” she responded. She flashed him another devious smile.

He didn’t want to let on how much this both impressed and amused him, but he loved her for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Welcome"  
> ** "Please, let's eat!"


	26. The Search Party

It took three hours to reach the eastern side of the Lonely Mountain. Thorin had a feeling there would be no sign of his father, but he and Dain had wanted to be sure. They slowed their ponies to a trot and then altogether stopped, dismounting in silence. A bird flew overhead, chirping happily.

“Ye’d never know what evil lies beyond these walls,” Dain said softly, pulling his hood down in respect.

“Aye,” Thorin replied. He was looking up at a tall, constructed wall partially concealed by brush. He glanced over to Signí and Natti before walking to a certain spot in the overgrown foliage. Pulling some vines away, he revealed a widened hole with strange gashes all around it in the stone barrier beneath. The other three came for a closer look.

“It’s like somethin’ chewed away at it!” Dain exclaimed, feeling the deep grooves with his hand.

“Something unnatural,” Thorin said darkly. He turned to Signí and Natti before reaching for his axe and climbing through. “Stay close.”

The air was quiet within those stone walls, and the empty, electric blue sky overhead stood in contrast to the jumbled and verdant foliage that grew around them. Thorin looked about the overgrowth, barely recognizing the landmarks of the garden that was once the backdrop of so many of his dwarflinghood memories. It was in here that he had played with Frerin, running around until they were both out of breath and then the air around them grew dim as Smaug’s dark figure blocked the sunlight from their eyes on that horrible day.

“Thror’s statue!” Dain exclaimed. He was examining a stone stump. 

“Aye,” Thorin said lowly. “An unknown messenger delivered that to us in Ered Luin.”

Dain flashed Thorin a look.

“It had been beheaded,” Thorin continued. He didn’t even need to explain any further, for it was obvious that someone or something was watching and threatening them and had been for quite some time before his father had even left for Erebor. He eyed his cousin for a reaction, but Dain simply stood there, his face twisted in worry. He’d always been the more laid-back cousin, looking to find the silver lining in things where Thorin had the tendency to brood and glower. Today however, there seemed to be no silver lining. And while he’d never admit it and his loyalty to his kin was too great to ever let him carry a grudge for it, Thorin had envied his cousin in some ways. Dain had watched on with the rest of the Dwarven population in the Iron Hills as the former inhabitants of Erebor struggled to find a new place to make a living, set down roots, to simply survive… Dain did not know what any of that was like, as he had the entirety of the Iron Hills waiting for his rulership and he’d never felt the daily anxiety of how supper would appear on the table in the evening.

Thorin watched as his cousin now inspected the overgrown stone walkway with hints of optimism in his step. He was just so damned privileged. Everything had always come easily for Dain. An only child, he was educated by the best tutors and was taught weaponry by the finest warriors while Thorin and Frerin had apprenticed under humans in Tharbad after the dragon. Sure, Thorin and Frerin had received some training from their father at the time too, but it wasn’t the same. Most recently Dain had found Unna and they’d married quickly, while Thorin had remained gloomily alone, dodging questions and spurring gossip. Still, he couldn’t resent his cousin entirely, for dwarven blood runs very thick. He knew Dain would lay his life down for him if things came to it, and it was indeed his cousin who had avenged Thorin’s own grandfather Thror’s death at the Battle of Azanulbizar.

He turned and watched Signí as she followed Dain curiously. Everything in his life so far could best be described in two parts: before and after the dragon. For him, she was what dwarves would call an _emnithel_ to this post-dragon life. The word literally translated to “cheeriest” in Westron, but in Khuzdul it had a much richer meaning. A warm bed in the middle of a cold and dark winter’s night, or the most hearty meal after a long and exhausting journey with little resources, or a spot of warm sunlight streaming in through a shaft in the gloomiest of mountain corridors would be just a few examples. He loved her more than anything, and of everything he’d worked for and accomplished in Ered Luin, it was nothing to him without having her around and the promise of their yet unborn.

Signí turned to smile at Thorin, having found a small purple flower blooming within a crack in the old stone walkway. _Aye, my emnithel_ , he thought and half-smiled back.

The air around them seemed unnaturally still. A rustling noise was heard from the far end of the garden and Thorin protectively stepped in front of Signí and Natti and reached for his axe, glancing at Dain.

“Caw!!” came a strange voice and a flurry of black feathers. Dain reactively raised his axe to swing, but Thorin stopped him.

The commotion settled into the shape of a large black bird. It coughed and wheezed and then stood solemnly with red eyes peering back at the dwarves standing before it. 

“I have not seen a raven in many years,” Thorin said, relaxing his stance. “You are not familiar to me.”

“Roäc, son of Carc is my name,” the bird replied in a raspy voice.

“Carc…” Thorin replied. “…friend to my grandfather Thror.”

The bird hopped in a strange back-and-forth manner while looking Thorin up and down.

“I have only heard tales of Thror, but you bear him in likeness,” the bird said. Thorin realized the creature must have been born after Smaug had already invaded the mountain, but he’d inherited a strong enough memory of Thror through his own father to be able to recognize the Durin looks in Thorin. These ravens had remained as they always had for hundreds of years: in the same spot, watching and waiting and passing down wisdom and old memories through generations. They had always been allies with the dwarves of Erebor, for the two races seemed to understand each other. In fact, the ravens seemed to be only other race in Middle Earth to take the time to understand dwarves.

“You are searching for one who wanders,” Roäc continued.

“Aye,” Thorin responded. “And to no avail. Have you seen anything?”

“I see much,” the bird replied cryptically. “I see your heart is pure… keep it that way and you shall find what you seek.”

Suddenly the raven drew his wings wide and open, cocked his head at Thorin in a farewell and took off into the air. Thorin looked down to the ground, unable to decipher the meaning of Roäc’s words. He did not feel as though his heart was pure, for everything and everyone he’d lost in the years since he’d even last stepped foot in this garden had hardened him. He was not so sensitive anymore, and those he loved fiercely he protected fiercely… with the tendency to push them away too. He looked to Signí, who now came close to him and slipped her hand in his. 

“We will find them,” she whispered.

He gazed back into her green eyes and felt nothing but guilt. She only meant well, but the feigned confidence of her words irritated him. Mahal, he loved her so. If only his heart was as pure as that bird had said, but he knew better. He’d only killed a man in front of her just the week before. Granted, Endelin was an evil man, but he’d still done it.

Natti suddenly made a noise and motioned for them to come near. She’d been peeking out through the hole in the wall. Dain drew his axe and stepped through, only to call for Thorin on the other side.

Stepping through the small passageway as well, Thorin looked up to see one of Dain’s huntsmen had returned.

“Zirak Thorin,” the dwarf bowed. He pulled something from his bag wrapped in fabric and handed it to him.

“Where did you find this?” Thorin gasped, unwrapping the object. It was a dwarven dagger, and one he recognized instantly as Dwalin’s.

“The eaves of Mirkwood,” the dwarf replied solemnly. “There was evidence of a fire too, still warm.”

“Mahal!” Thorin exclaimed. He clutched the dwarf in a quick hug before pulling away and sitting down on a nearby rock. “We were just there two days ago!”

“The rest of the party is still searching,” the dwarf continued. He turned to Dain. “It is looking promising. We can send reinforcements to search through the night.”

“Aye,” Dain replied, smiling and giving his huntsman a pat on the shoulder.

The dwarf bowed and remounted his pony before taking off again.

“The day grows late,” Dain said to Thorin, smiling. “There’s nothin’ more to see here; let my men do their work and we will go back an’ come up with a plan to find my ol’ uncle.”

“Aye,” Thorin stood again and replied, but he didn’t smile back. He looked down at Dwalin’s dagger in his hands and anxiety filled him. He hoped this was merely a case of accidentally leaving something behind rather than evidence of something more gruesome the way finding Bremir’s ring had been.

***

“I do not know how I will get any sleep tonight,” Thorin said as he pulled his dirty tunic off, revealing his muscular frame beneath. They’d all come back to the Iron Hills a couple of hours prior, and Thorin had met with Dain and Oin and Faldir to figure out their next moves. The plan was to send a fresh regiment out for an overnight shift and then they’d launch an even bigger and broader search the next day. He’d wanted to go with the overnight search party, but Dain had convinced him to stay and rest. Signí was glad for this though, since he hadn’t slept in almost two days straight at this point.

He unlaced his pants and kicked those off too. Signí lay reclined on the bed and half-smiled. That familiar line of hair down the front of his torso that trailed beneath his shorts was one of her favorite parts of him. On any other night, this kind of mundane thing would have been incredibly alluring to her, but he stood for a moment and looked lost in thought until his eyes seemed to harden.

“Dain asked me if I had told anyone else of our travels,” he said to her, a suspicious tone in his voice. 

“It is no secret that others are searching for your father,” Signí replied. She was confused. Wasn’t this already known from the time they’d stopped in Bree?

“Aye,” Thorin replied. He paced the floor twice before suddenly stopping, a pained look upon his face. “He said his huntsmen have gotten word that Thorin Oakenshield has been out traveling… with his wife.”

Of course this was especially concerning. Dwarven women traveled in secrecy, and unless a human hailed from an area like Tharbad with a history of having been populated by dwarves, they were inclined to believe the female gender among dwarves was nothing but a myth. Because of this, enemies of dwarves were willing to pay a high price for any captured dwarrowesses, wanting them for slaves. For an exiled prince of Durinsfolk with a dwarfling on the way, this was an especially terrifying prospect.

“I would rather not speak of it,” he continued. “But I must know. Did you tell that man Endelin anything?”

Signí’s face reddened. She had no idea how word could have gotten out that she’d been traveling with him considering anyone who’d seen her with him was either a dwarf sworn to secrecy or a human that was dead. _Unless the girl at the inn had said something to someone…_ , she thought. But that girl was someone who was already familiar with dwarves and Signí was pretty sure she'd never actually revealed any part of her identity to her. Signí sighed.

“Aye, I did,” she replied, sitting up on the bed. 

His eyes flared with fury but he stood motionless.

“He had already figured out who you were,” she continued. “He knew far more than he let on. His original plan was to follow us until we found your father, and then ambush us with his men. His motivation was money, so I offered him some in return for his help.”

“And you told me nothing of this?” Thorin asked, his voice smoldering in anger.

“How could I?” she exclaimed. “You could have bargained with him, but you refused to talk to him!”

“And what did talking to him accomplish?” he said icily. “Bremir is dead and we still do not know where the rest of them are. We should have never left Ered Luin.”

“We would have never found Bremir’s ring if he’d not led us to that house,” she said quietly. “And those elves could have helped us too, if only you’d not ambushed them!”

“Elves!” Thorin retorted. “Enemies to our people, and you claim they could help us in the most delicate of circumstances!”

“Do you forget they saved my life? And that of your unborn?” Signí shot back. “Or is that irrelevant to you?”

Thorin exhaled angrily and paced to the other side of the room with clenched fists. Signí could plainly see it was taking everything in him not to smash something.

“Mahuznarazu ki kurdûh,”* he said bitterly, now looking away from her and at the wall near him. He remained there and crossed his arms. Honestly, she expected him to be angrier than he was, but his broken demeanor was far more painful to bear.

“None of this was supposed to happen,” he continued in a quieter tone after a long pause. She realized he had tears in his eyes and instinctively got up and stood before him, hands sweeping up the soft, bare skin of his back in an embrace. He turned his face away from hers, but reciprocated with his arms and held her tightly.

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I should have told you.”

“Aye,” Thorin replied. “But none of that matters now.”

They stood silently with arms wrapped around each other for a while like two felled trees, each holding the other up by simply having the other there to lean into. He nuzzled his whiskery face into her cheek and she in turn ran a finger through his tangled hair. His mood was much calmer now.

“I cannot think anymore tonight,” he whispered huskily into her ear. “And I stink like an orc!” he smirked.

“Go take a bath!” Signí pushed him away, giggling. He certainly didn’t smell like roses, but his scent was earthy and weirdly not as unpleasant as one would expect.

He disappeared into the other room and Signí could hear the water starting. Her thoughts drifted back to what had transpired earlier that morning with Unna and Kamma. If they disliked her then, they certainly despised her now! She smirked. Abducting Natti probably wasn’t the best idea, but Dain had been there and he didn’t seem to mind. And poor Natti! She couldn’t believe Kamma had taken advantage of her position like that. She made up her mind that she’d visit her parents tomorrow, and perhaps her father would be willing to take her as an apprentice. 

Signí sighed. The idea of staying here any longer than another day or so was wholly unappealing, but she’d stay as long as necessary for this nightmare to end. She also dreaded facing Dís when it was time to go back to Ered Luin. Leaving without telling her was such an awful thing to do, and now they had to somehow break the news about Bremir. She sighed again and stood up from the bed. 

Thorin was in the bathtub, and the surface of the water was illuminated by only a couple of candles. Signí kneeled down onto the floor and draped her arm over into the tub. She ran her fingers through the warm water and his hand met hers. As he brought it up to his lips, he kissed her fingers tenderly, his eyes glittering back the candlelight that reflected around them. He leaned back and brought her hand to his broad chest and held it over to where his heartbeat could be felt.

“My earliest memory is of looking up at the ceiling as my mother held me, watching the fireflies dance,” he whispered. 

Signí looked up to the ceiling above them and watched the dancing of the candlelight reflected off the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "You're breaking my heart."


	27. Illumination

Signí stepped cautiously through the doorway, awaiting her meeting with Unna. This was an area that few dwarves saw, as Dain had renovated this space especially for her own private use when they’d married. Along the walls were laid intricate tiles of all colors, and light shafts had been carved into the ceiling, creating a heavenly glow about the room. Glass prisms were strategically hung near the areas of light, throwing rainbows over nearly every visible surface. It was downright breathtaking.

The furniture was sparse: a large wooden bench with a velvet cushion sat before a small coffee table. Completely alone in the room, Signí sat down. It’d been a month since she’d visited the garden outside Erebor with Thorin and Dain. In that time, the search party had found another campfire, still warm and abandoned, and one footman had even sworn he’d seen a small troupe of dwarves downriver on the Celduin, but there was no evidence of them by the time anyone had gotten close enough. Hope had begun to fade in the last week though, for Dain’s men had also encountered two orcs and a warg pack. Thorin feared his father and cousins might have hidden themselves in Mirkwood in an attempt to flee from being chased, but the dangers of getting lost in those enchanted woods was far greater than orcs and wargs, especially when they had nearly half the army of the Iron Hills dispatching in small groups around the clock searching.

Signí clasped her hands together and sighed. That awful breakfast had been the last time she’d really talked to Unna. Visiting with her parents during the days Thorin was out searching with Dain had provided an acceptable excuse for the most part. When she was obligated to attend the large dinners, she either managed to avoid Unna entirely because of the crowd or their interactions were terse and superficial, with little real conversation at all. But two uzhunis not calling on each other in a month’s time when familial ties bound them was certain to spur some gossip, for women stay very close in Dwarven culture. Unna had extended the offer this time, and though Signí would have rather declined, the last thing she wanted was to put any undue stress on Thorin.

“I hope you’ll forgive my tardiness,” came Unna’s voice as she walked in the room. She was followed by an older dwarrowess with a tray of tea and bread, who promptly set the tray down on the table and left the room without a word. Unna wore a simple wine red gown with no adornment. Signí had never seen her dressed so plainly before and she now threw her shoulders back and sat up taller. Kamma was strangely absent, and Signí was secretly relieved.

The two dwarrowesses each poured their own cups of tea and sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment.

“This room is very beautiful,” Signí spoke up politely.

“It is inspired by the fountain of Naraggund,” Unna said with a hint of wonder in her voice. “No doubt you’ve visited? It is stunning! I was only seventeen when I first saw it, but it has never left my mind.”

“I haven’t,” Signí replied.

Unna watched Signí a moment, as if trying to decipher foreign words on a page. Signí wasn’t very familiar with Unna, but she did know that she had grown up as the only child of a wealthy family who dealt in rare jewels. Because of this, they’d no doubt traveled often. She was raised in the Iron Hills, basically born and bred for royalty, and had lived a life so vastly different from her own that it was hardly surprising they would have little understanding of the other as they each stared across the table now, teacups in hand.

“Well, I’m sure Thorin could take you there someday,” Unna suggested hopefully. “I would have thought you had… your hair is so dark, I thought....”

“You think I am a Blacklock?” Signí’s cheeks flushed and she sat back in a proud manner. “I am a Longbeard, through and through.”

“I’m- I’m sorry-“ Unna stuttered, a little embarrassed. “Blacklock ladies are some of the most beautiful in the Dwarven race, I meant it as a compliment.”

“Well I’m afraid my travels are not so wondrous,” Signí replied with a half-smirk. “My mother hails from the Iron Hills, but my father’s family had lived in Erebor and his line goes all the way back to Khazad-Dum. I remember the day the dragon came.”

Unna was silent, wringing her hands and looking back at her intently. Signí found it slightly amusing that Unna had no idea what to say back to her.

“I did not know things were so dire… with Thrain, I mean,” Unna said. “Dain explained everything…” 

Signí studied her face, unsure of her intentions. Her eyes exuded a strange mix of concern, anger and disgust.

“At first I thought Thorin so reckless,” Unna continued, now looking past Signí’s head and off into space. “To bring you out here in a state that many dwarrowesses would… kill for.”

It was true; the birthrate among the dwarven population was the lowest in all of Middle Earth. It had never been very high, but over the years it had declined even more. With wars and the evisceration of Erebor and women only being a third of the total population, new babies were rare.

“But now I understand,” Unna said, focusing on Signí once again. “I would say that I’d have done the same, only I am not so brave.”

“It was not bravery,” Signí replied honestly. “It was necessity.”

“I want to-“ Unna began awkwardly. “-to apologize. For being so unwelcoming the morning you had breakfast with us. And I hope you’ve found the Iron Hills to be more heartening than that, because we pride ourselves on our Dwarven hospitality.”

Signí looked up at her dubiously. Dwarven hospitality? She nearly laughed out loud. Dwarves were some of the kindest and most accommodating creatures in Middle Earth… but only once you’ve gained their trust. They weren’t exactly the hospitable type taking in strangers off the street. Unna’s face remained frozen in a serious expression.

“Natti has been wonderful,” Signí said. “And from what she tells me, her time in servitude should have been up long ago.”

Unna stood and walked to the end of the room, gazing at where the shaft of sunlight bounced off the colored glass tile into confetti of light.

“Aye,” the uzhuni said. “She chooses to stay. Kamma is like a mother to her.”

“That’s not what I have heard,” Signí replied tersely. “Have you asked her this directly?”

“I suppose I haven’t,” Unna said thoughtfully. “But Kamma wouldn’t lie to me. And, I did not invite you to discuss my _dashuninh_.”

The dwarrowess paused a moment, wringing her hands. A pained look crept across her face.

“Actually… I thought it better not to speak of it,” Unna began. “But perhaps you might know something I do not…”

Unna turned to look Signí in the eye, but Signí simply sat and glared back at her.

“Kamma has gone,” the uzhuni continued. “It is very unlike her, but I know she has been… distracted lately.”

Signí’s muscles tensed.

“I know nothing of Kamma’s whereabouts,” Signí replied flatly. 

“When she came to work for me,” Unna continued, not hearing Signí. “I did not like her at first. She had this angry, portentous air about her. I only accepted her to assist Dain and Thrain, and because she’d been recently rejected by her _azyungal_ …”

Signí stiffened. Discussing Kamma and referring to Thorin as _that_ , that word which she refused to acknowledge because it was so sacred… that which Thorin was to _her_ , was simply not something she could do. She stared back at Unna in indignation.

“I cannot imagine such a rejection!” Unna continued still. “I think I should die if Dain did not love me back—”

Unna abruptly stopped speaking, for she finally noticed the angry look on Signí’s face.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. Signí’s mouth gaped slightly, for she couldn’t believe Unna was that clueless.

“Do you—“ Signí choked out. “Do you know who he is?”

“She will not tell me,” Unna replied, genuinely concerned. “And Thrain would not say. I suspect he is someone who serves within the royal courts and travels often, for I’ve noticed that visits from the Blue Mountains bring on her moody spells. Ugh, I’ve said too much! I apologize – this is so very rude of me!”

Unna collapsed back into the chair across from Signí and rested her face into her folded arms for a moment. Signí’s eyes softened, though she had no idea what to say to her. She had not expected this at all.

“I have no one to confide in,” Unna said, sitting up now. “I am s—“

“No need to be sorry,” Signí whispered. She knew exactly how isolating it was to have no one to really talk to. A _dashuninh_ was supposed to be that confidante, but obviously Kamma had not been that for her. She suddenly felt a wave of compassion for Unna, and remorseful for judging her earlier. That breakfast had been filled with some of the most judgmental, shallow dwarves she’d ever encountered, but she had no idea Unna might have ever felt similarly alone among them. These dwarves were supposed to be family to Unna! And here she was, so genuinely worried for someone she considered a best friend that she was confiding in Signí, because somehow Signí must have seemed more approachable than anyone in her own circle.

“I know who he is,” Signí continued after a moment. She nearly regretted it, for this had been a matter that didn’t directly concern her, but then a force of cogency took over. She could easily see Thrain’s reasoning for withholding Thorin’s name at the time of arranging Kamma's new position in the Iron Hills, but what did it matter now? Saying it would bring it out into the open. Saying it would finally slay the nasty elephant in the room, and any power Kamma held over her would be abolished.

“Aye?” Unna looked up to Signí with a curious look.

“He does indeed serve within the royal courts,” she replied.

Unna looked to her, waiting for more.

“He does indeed travel, as well,” Signí said, cracking a half-smile.

Unna still waited.

“From Ered Luin,” she finished.

Unna still waited for more, but Signí only smirked back.

“Aye?” Unna pressed. She didn’t get it. She looked down, wheels turning, and then exclaimed, “Oh Mahal!”

Signí smirked again.

“It must be Dwalin!” Unna said. “And he is missing! How awful…”

“No,” Signí replied, nearly laughing, but then the reminder of their missing family subdued her.

Unna looked at Signí, bewildered.

“Thorin,” Signí said softly.

Unna’s mouth gaped slightly as she took in Signí’s response. The wheels turned as she mentally pieced together the events that must have unfolded, for she had already known some of the story of how Signí and Thorin had been reunited.

“I see,” she said. “Now I understand…”

She rose and wandered back to where the shaft of light illumined the prism, but it had grown faint. Clouds must have formed in the sky. She turned back to Signí.

“I found this in her room,” Unna said. She revealed a worn handkerchief, with strange letters messily scrawled onto the fabric in what looked like ash. She stepped closer and held it within Signí’s view.

“ _Afar angathfark_ ,”* it read. Signí gasped and the muscles in her throat tightened in anxiety.

“It is not Khuzdul or Elvish,” Unna said, concerned.

Signí did not know any languages beside Khuzdul or Westron, but the way the words flowed reminded her of the time she’d encountered the orc in Tharbad. 

“I’m afraid not,” she replied quietly. Evil seemed to flow from those words.

***

Thorin pulled the vines that covered the wall entrance away in haste. He was in the garden at Erebor again, only this time he’d come by himself. The sky overhead was darkening and threatening to rain, but Roäc had flown overhead and had caught his attention.

He trekked his way through the overgrown brush and stopped before the defaced stump on where his grandfather’s statue used to sit. It was eerily silent. Suddenly the ground beneath his feet began to move as the slab of rock crumbled and gave way to a massive opening, and he gripped a nearby branch as dirt and rocks and leaves fell all around him. When everything settled, a set of stone stairs lay before him leading downward. An entrance into one of the deep underground tunnels of the mountain had been unearthed! _Strange_ , he thought. He never knew this existed before!

He looked around him once more and began to descend down the stairs. That strange silence continued, and he rested a hand upon the butt of his axe just in case. The light around him began to fade, but something inside the mountain seemed to be pulling him towards it with a strange, automatic ferocity he’d never felt before.

Soon the walls around him were pitch-black, and Thorin was forced to carefully feeling his way along the stone surface beside him. He inwardly cursed himself for having forgotten any kind of matches or materials to light anything, but just then a shuffling noise emanated right ahead and he froze.

“Brother!” an oddly familiar voice exclaimed as a flash of bright flame erupted.

A shadowy figure carrying a torch approached. Thorin squinted in the dim light, trying to make sense of what he saw. It appeared to be another dwarf, but he was tall and looked so much like…

“Frerin?” Thorin whispered out loud. It couldn’t be! His brother was dead, and he’d watched it happen so many years ago. Yet, there he was, his sandy brown, curly locks strung wildly about his face, battle armor broken and still clinging to his body.

“Come no further!” Frerin’s voice hissed. “Turn away from the mountain, and do not ever look back!”

 

Thorin sat up in the bed with a start. He covered his face with his hands momentarily. His breathing was labored and shaky as he wiped the sweat from his brow and mentally stepped back into reality. Signí lay fast asleep and oblivious to the turmoil thrashing around in his mind. It’d been a while since he’d had a Frerin dream. He used to have them nightly, and they were always a horrible replay of what had happened, as if his brain would never shut off from constantly reminding him of his failure to protect his brother. But this dream was different. Frerin was alive, in the mountain. Of course it was the dragon that was really there, but was his brother trying to warn him of something? He’d seemed so real that even now Thorin had trouble shaking off the feeling that he’d just been there, standing before him.

He thought of his aging father, lost with Dwalin and Balin. And Bremir dead! What would Frerin think of all this? Would they still have gone missing had Frerin still been around to go with them? Would Frerin have been able to convince their father to stay? Thorin had inherited the temper and obstinance of his grandfather, but Frerin had the jovial spirit of their mother and had always been the peacekeeper among the Durin children.

_…keep it that way and you shall find what you seek_ , Roäc’s words suddenly echoed in his head as he stood up from the bed.

What did that bird know anyway? Here he was, searching in vain it seemed, dragging Signí halfway across Middle Earth and using up Dain’s resources. As a dwarfling he’d been groomed to assume the throne, and when that promised world had caved in on itself his whole sense of identity changed. At first, he’d felt pure rage and bitterly plotted how he’d raise armies one day and siege the mountain to murder Smaug. But those passing days in Tharbad spent toiling in some man’s forge, underpaid and overworked, soon transmuted this fury into something greater than himself. He witnessed the death toll of Azanulbizar. And sure, they’d won the war, but hadn’t it really all been started by his own grandfather’s wish to reclaim Moria? And yet Moria still sat occupied by the balrog. This must be what Frerin was trying to warn him! The pattern was already beginning to repeat again with Thrain’s desire for Erebor, and Thorin, being unclouded by the ring his father carried, was determined to stop it. _No Father, there will be no reclaiming Erebor_ , he thought to himself. Though Ered Luin was poor compared to even the Iron Hills, it was safe and it was home. It held no valuables that might attract great serpents or other foul creatures. It was half a world away from any enemies, and the living they made was adequate. 

“Aye, the days of jewels and wealth are gone for the line of Durin,” he whispered aloud to himself. Indeed, it was a bitter feeling, but even worse would be giving in to that bitterness and repeating the cycle.

***

“Wake up,” Signí gently nudged. “I wanted to let you sleep longer, but…”

Thorin blinked and focused on Signí’s face as she leaned over the bed, illumined by candlelight.

“…they’ve been found,” she said solemnly.

“Aye?” he quickly jumped out of the bed.

“Late last night, just outside the garden at Erebor,” she replied. A chill ran down his spine, for that was about the time he’d first woken up from that dream.

“And my father?” he asked.

“Dain is waiting for you,” she said softly, her eyes worried.

Thorin quickly dressed and tore through the halls, down a set of stairs and up another, round the corner and burst through the door of his cousin’s office.

Dain stood near the window with his hands behind his back, but seated in each of the chairs were a very bedraggled-looking pair of brothers: Dwalin and Balin.

Heart racing, Thorin kneeled to their level and looked into their eyes. Dwalin and Balin each put a dirty fist to their chests and solemnly bowed their heads in return. Thorin’s eyes darted from brother to brother before settling on Dain.

“Thrain has disappeared,” Dain said after a few moments of silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "By the forge of my soul," an Orcish oath


	28. The Unfolding

“Disappeared?” Thorin’s voice came out in a panic.

“Aye,” Balin now spoke up. “Under the eaves of Mirkwood. We always had one of us awake to guard him, but he grew more delirious the closer we got to the mountain. He kept trying to run off—“

“And no one stopped him?” Thorin asked, anger seeping into his voice.

“Cousin, he disappeared in the night,” Dwalin spoke up. He stood and reached out to Thorin, but Thorin turned away from him. Dwalin looked down in shame, for he was painfully aware of the promise he tried to make before they’d departed Ered Luin those many months ago.

“Those woods are enchanted,” Balin said softly. Dwalin had been the one keeping watch that night, and Balin knew the guilt his brother felt was was far greater than any wrongdoing he might have done. “He disappeared silently. You know how dark and impossible it is to see in that thicket at night.”

“I have heard enough,” Thorin retorted angrily. His temper rose with volcanic fury and he forced himself to step away, fists clenched and eyes wild as he struggled to keep his composure. This was all too much! His worst fear was being realized and he simply didn’t know how to deal. Of course, he knew how stubborn his father was. If he really had wanted to run off from the group, nothing – not even Dwalin’s keen eye – would catch him in enough time to stop him. He was an old dwarf and sometimes confused, but he wasn’t stupid or any less cunning. Blaming either of his cousins simply wasn’t fair.

Dain, Dwalin and Balin all remained silent. Thorin turned to face them once more, calmer now. He became keenly aware of Dwalin’s dagger sitting in the inside pocket of the overcoat he’d thrown on before leaving Signí. He sighed and reached for it, remembering how he’d feared Dwalin might have died too and gratitude washed over him for at least their survival.

“One of Dain’s soldiers found this,” he said quietly, carefully handing Dwalin the dagger.

A look of happy surprise came over Dwalin’s face at the return of it, but it was only momentary.

“Aye, I had lost that the morning we discovered Thrain had vanished,” Dwalin replied.

“Tell me everything,” Thorin said, his eyes intense.

Balin spoke up now.

“I never thought it would end up this way…” he sighed heavily.

“Our travels were uneventful until we reached Bree. By then, a flyer had already circulated, looking for the exiled king of Erebor. Who told outsiders we had left?” 

Balin shook his head in disgust before continuing.

“We tried to disguise Thrain, but he would throw his hood back after a while, either forgetting or being too stubborn to care about the dangers around us. We had only stopped in Bree for a few hours. Dwalin spotted a strange man looking at us suspiciously, and we left at once.”

“With a black cape?” Thorin asked. He wondered how long Endelin’s son had been scouting Bree out for dwarves.

“Aye,” replied Dwalin. “And a nasty little troupe of criminals with him.”

Thorin remained silent and waited for Balin to continue.

“We managed to dodge them and ended up hiding in the Midgewater Marshes,” Balin said. Dwalin flinched slightly in disgust at the name of the place, for it was known to be infested with flies and smelly bogwater.

“We weren’t there long,” Balin said quickly.

“An orc pack spotted us, and at the same time a treacherous storm rolled in and we had no choice but to run for our lives. That’s how we ended up far more north than we had wanted.

“We reached the North Downs in about a fortnight. Famished and weak, we dug out a hole in the side of a large hill and rested. Thrain seemed to enjoy our time there. We hunted by day and sang by the fire at night, and nothing was around to bother us.”

Balin smiled for a moment before growing somber again. At this point, Dwalin began to fidget nervously with the dagger. He kept his eyes on the floor.

“We made plans to travel as discreetly as possible, hoping to reach the high pass in under a month. But Thrain grew restless again, and one of us had to watch with vigilance at all times to keep him from running off. He refused to follow our chosen path and instead led us to the Ettenmoors. I do not know how long we were in the Ettenmoors, for time does not pass there in a logical way. He kept talking to voices around him that we couldn’t hear, but there was an evil presence around us – all of us felt it.”

Balin’s eyes glazed over and he shivered at the memory of the place.

“And that is when the scout left for Ered Luin?” said Thorin.

“Aye,” said Balin.

Thorin watched as the two brothers grew silent again.

“We found Bremir’s wedding ring in Weathertop,” Thorin said. The implication was obvious.

“He saved Thrain – twice,” Dwalin said softly.

“He saved us all,” Balin looked down, humility and sadness welling in his eyes. “Orcs chased us into Weathertop and we happened upon an empty barn… only it wasn’t empty. Food had strangely appeared for us overnight. We thought it might be poisoned at first, but Bremir took the first bite and convinced the rest of us that someone was trying to show these old Dwarves some kindness.

“This went on for about a fortnight, at which point I stayed awake long enough to see who it was. A human lady… though I never got to say a proper thank you. I was suspicious though –“

“Aye, suspicions!” Dwalin interjected. “I did not trust it for a minute. It was only biding our time to keep us where ‘ey wanted us.”

“We stayed to help Thrain recover,” Balin coldly reminded his brother.

“Recover?” Thorin inquired.

“Aye, a leg wound from an orc attack,” Balin replied.

“The second time Bremir nearly laid his life down for him,” Dwalin murmured.

“We were ambushed in the night and taken to an abandoned house and held hostage for two days,” Balin continued.

“The caped man and his group?” Thorin asked. Balin nodded. He quickly thought out the timeline in his head: if this was indeed Endelin’s son that had ambushed them, it must have happened right after the altercation in the Prancing Pony’s dining hall! _Then Endelin was indeed leading us to them_ , he thought angrily.

“They tried to get information out of us,” Balin went on. “I pretended to be Thrain, but when they saw I carried no ring they tried to behead me. Bremir and Dwalin had been tied together, back to back, and managed to break free from their binds when the men weren’t looking.”

“Twas my dagger,” Dwalin murmured.

“Dwalin grabbed Thrain and ran, and Bremir and I distracted them,” Balin resumed. “They had me pinned, and he took them off me, yelled at me to run to protect the others…”

At this point, Balin’s voice choked up. He stood for a moment without a word before inhaling sharply.

“They saw his wedding ring – the only ring worn between the two of us,” he said in a shaky voice. “They centered on him, and he fought…”

He dropped his head in shame.

Thorin looked at him and then to Dwalin.

“You left Bremir to fight by himself?” he asked.

“I jumped in, but it was too late,” Balin said softly, shame clouding his voice. “He’d suffered a fatal blow. I was too late.”

Thorin’s own eyes reflected back the same horrified despair. The feeling was all too familiar to him.

“What happened after that?” Thorin asked gently.

“I slew the man to avenge Bremir,” he said quietly. “But then we fled, to protect Thrain. Bremir did not get a proper burial.”

Thorin’s eyes darted back and forth between his three cousins in the room and tried to comprehend all he had heard. If Bremir had been slain in that abandoned house, where had his body gone? He was quite certain they wouldn’t have missed it. He shuddered to think of the rest of the bandits taking it woth them, but there was no other explanation for its absence. He knew there was a market for Dwarven body parts in darker parts of the world, and the thought of his brother-in-law’s body being subjected to that angered him. Dain had remained silently listening to Balin’s account, and looked to be piecing everything together in his head. Obviously they had been right under the noses of the search parties this whole time. Why had they been so impossible to find until now? Had there been some enchantment cast upon them? It seemed that way, for once his father disappeared, the group had suddenly been so easy to locate. Orcs had been following them, but Thorin knew orcs weren’t smart enough for enchantments. Who else had been following them? Endelin and his son were dead.

“We must search for my father,” Thorin said suddenly.

“Aye,” Dain replied. “My soldiers are doing everything they can.”

This somewhat satisfied him, but anxiety still rose in the pit of Thorin’s stomach. He refused to believe the worst had happened! His father was still alive. He knew it, and they would find him.

“You can stay here as long as you need,” Dain said. “My soldiers will find ‘im.”

His words didn’t feel reassuring to Thorin though. He knew they’d have to go back home to Ered Luin eventually, where he’d have to face his sister and mother.

***

Signí took the whistling kettle off the fire and poured the hot liquid into four mugs, one for herself, two for her father and mother, and one for her mother’s friend Siv. It was tea made from valerian leaves, traditionally made and consumed by dwarves in late summer. Humans had taken to using the plant’s roots for medicinal purposes, but the dwarven body was too hearty to feel any of its effects, and they relished the tea for its flavor only.

Her mother carried one of the mugs to her father and he grunted a thank you. He was planted in the corner of the room, working on a fine dress. His mood had been mostly dour in the last few weeks, for Alfí had declared he would no longer sew anymore and had already taken up a junior position within Dain’s royal guard. Anvari had been surprisingly calm over it all, though Signí knew he worried over what would eventually become of the family business.

Her parents’ home in the Iron Hills wasn’t much different than what she’d remembered in Erebor, and it gave her a little bit of a homesick feel if she thought about it. The sloping walls, curving to a point not far above her head were claustrophobic compared to the high, flat ceilings of their mannish dwelling in Tharbad. And yet, that claustrobic feeling was comforting to her in a way. Shelves carved into the walls at eye level held trinkets and small paintings of family members, and if one was unacquainted with dwarven homes, they’d liken it to a hobbit dwelling. Despite being easily able to afford an apartment on the outside of the mountain with windows and more space, she knew her father had deliberately chosen this one. “More money in the pocket means a happier life!” she could hear his favorite saying in her head.

“Has there been any news?” Signí’s mother’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She was referring to Thrain. Her friend Siv looked on with curious eyes. She was an older dwarrowess with a medium build and had two grown dwarflings of her own. Her mother had met her while selling in the marketplace a few years ago and they’d become fast friends. She had a hooked nose that tumbled over a hairy upper lip that connected into firey red sideburns, but no beard. Her hair was a more subdued auburn that stood markedly darker, and gave her the appearance of looking as though she’d dyed her hair but forgotten her sideburns. Signí liked her well enough, but she was a known gossip and so she preferred to say as little as possible around her.

Signí shook her head in response to her mother’s question. It had been a week since Dwalin and Balin had been found, but there had been no more news since then. The dwarves had kept Bremir’s death a secret for the time being as well.

“I wonder if he tried to enter the mountain himself… surely the dragon is still inside there?” she asked Signí.

“I don’t know,” Signí sighed, agitation in her voice. She knew her mother was only trying to make conversation, but she didn’t feel like talking about it, especially in front of Siv. Living through it and seeing the stress of it all wearing down on Thorin was difficult enough.

A small knock was heard on the front door.

Signí jumped up to answer it before her mother could, glad for the diversion. It was Natti.

“I’m sorry to- to intrude,” Natti said, her eyes bright red from apparently having been crying. “I didn’t know where else to find you!”

“What’s wrong?” Signí asked, ushering the girl back into the hallway and closing the door from Siv and her mother hearing. She feared something horrible had happened to Thorin.

“Fired!” Natti replied. “Kamma fired me. She said I am useless and disloyal and – “ 

Signí put her hand on the girl’s shoulder as she choked up again.

“…that my mother could have gotten me from her years ago but didn’t because I’m worthless!” Natti exclaimed. “And now I have nowhere to go – literally nowhere! I have no family at all here and no way to pay for any passage to Ered Luin. No way to feed myself, or a bed to sleep in…”

“Your mother is in Ered Luin?” Signí asked. “You’ll come with us then!”

“Aye?” Natti’s eyes brightened.

“But I don’t understand,” Signí said aloud softly. _Why would Kamma fire her only maidservant?_ she wondered.

Signí stood pensively for a moment. Kamma basically passed all her work onto Natti, so this just didn’t make sense. She suddenly thought of the strange note Unna had found.

“I thought she had gone,” Signí muttered, remembering what Unna had told her.

Natti looked on with a confused face.

“So she has been around?” Signí asked gravely. “Have you noticed her acting any differently at all?”

“Aye…” Natti replied. “I haven’t seen her much lately. She had me take care of guests this time. She usually has other waitstaff do it and saves the worst jobs for me.”

Signí realized Kamma must have been careful to keep Natti at arms length, for she hadn’t seemed to notice any of the things Unna had. Perhaps that distance is what prompted her to assign Natti to take care of her, and no one else.

Both dwarowesses suddenly heard a shuffle down the hall and Signí got the distinct feeling that someone had been listening to their conversation. She squinted, but in the dim corridor she could only see what she thought was the faint grey ruffle of a tunic.

“You’ve been followed!” she whispered to Natti.


	29. Home Again

“More bread?” Unna cheerfully shouted over the sound of the noisy hall to Dain and Thorin, gingerly placing the basket between them. 

Dwalin was seated at the table directly behind Thorin and, with a wink, reached over his shoulder and grabbed the last piece before he could. Thorin punched his cousin’s shoulder in retaliation and laughed.

The day of the Harvest Feast was upon them. It was also exactly four months and seventeen days since his cousins had returned, and it was moments like these he no longer took for granted. The glaring absence of his still-missing father and brother-in-law only served to underscore this feeling. The weather had already begun to turn cooler at night and winter would soon envelop the lands.

He looked across the table at Signí. He smiled. She was deep in conversation with Unna and laughing, and he was glad to see their friendship blossom. The two dwarrowesses suddenly reminded him of his sister however, and his countenance changed. That old sense of urgency that had been plaguing him for weeks began to creep into his heart again. With now only about eight months left in her pregnancy, Signí was showing more than ever. 

“ _Shomakhuf_ * is nearly upon you!” Signí’s mother had warned him. He knew Signí dreaded the idea of having the baby in the Iron Hills, though having her mother close by at least helped. But time was indeed running out. If they waited much longer, traveling while Signí was still pregnant wouldn’t even be an option anymore. And traveling with a baby was unheard of, except in the direst of circumstances. He’d hoped to Mahal and all of the stars that his father might show up during this time and make the decision to leave easy, but he was beginning to see that it wouldn’t be so.

“Aye, we leave at Harvest Feast,” he had promised them. The Harvest Feast marked the beginning of _âfthùrag_ , the thirteenth month of the Dwarven calendar that only came once every three years. On years with no thirteenth month, there was still a harvest, but the feast wasn’t celebrated for the full two weeks like it was now. Instead, the harvest was quieter and they celebrated Durin’s Day. 

Anticipating the commotion of the Harvest Feast, he had wanted to quietly slip out with Signí, Oin, Faldir, Dwalin and Balin so as to avoid spurring gossip, but Dain insisted they stay for at least the first day of the Feast and then let his men accompany them home to Ered Luin.

Thorin and Dain had kept everything quiet about the circumstances surrounding Thrain’s disappearance, though rumors had already begun. They both knew how word of mouth passed, and neither wanted anything to slip back to the Blue Mountains before Thorin could get there first. Dain had kept up the searching, but gave few details to his footmen other than to find Thrain. None of this was much more than their usual patrolling duties though, so thankfully no one really questioned it. It was, however, becoming increasingly obvious that Thrain would likely never be found. Bremir’s death sat like a weight in the pit of Thorin’s stomach, for he still needed a proper burial. _Or at the very least, some kind of acknowledgment_ , he thought to himself guiltily. They had no body to bury and also had to be especially careful about how Dís would eventually learn the news.

Thorin’s thoughts wandered back to home again. The traveling part would not be so dangerous with Dain’s men accompanying them, though they’d certainly be a noticeable spectacle traveling in a large, guarded group. They’d be less prone to attack as they had been on the way to the Iron Hills, but the idea of sneaking by hardly detected was out the window, and all of Middle Earth would know that Thorin Oakenshield and his pregnant wife were traveling on the road. Which was worse? He didn’t know.

“Thorin,” Dain’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Be free of worry for now. Tonigh’, remember this: _irmûm, ichshomûm_ **.”

Dain drew a hand out and swept it across Thorin’s view of the room, as if to chastise him for not paying more attention to the present. Thorin glanced over to Signí and Unna and then back to his cousin. He was right. Tonight was not for spending in sorrow. For now, even though he refused to let his guard down, he’d embrace the uncertainty. The ignorance of the unknown allowed for a small light of happiness before the inevitable and dreaded time of facing reality again. In truth, he had no idea where his father was, for better or worse. 

Two ales filled to the brim and dripping with condensation suddenly landed in front of Thorin and Dain.

“Drink up!” Dwalin shouted, winking. Someone had begun a song and it had taken over the entire hall, erupting in cheers and splashes of ale all around.

 _Irmûm, ichshomûm_ , Thorin thought to himself before guzzling down his beer.

***

The dark sky overhead twinkled with a thousand stars, and Signí wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The moon was barely a sliver of light, making everything around them even darker. Unna had worriedly pointed that out at their departure, but Dain had declared it a good thing – the less light for detection, the better. Signí’s pony’s steps were solid and sure upon the ground, though she felt anything but. The idea of being surrounded by forty of the best dwarves the Iron Hills’ army had to offer was comforting though. She rode in a special saddle designed for lounging, and was grateful for the chance to nap a little. She leaned into her pony’s neck and nuzzled her face into his mane. It was coarse, yet warm and cushiony. He was a sweet animal and seemed to intuitively know to trot more gently with her on his back. There was no need to steer him, for he was tethered directly to Thorin’s pony. Directly behind rode her mother and father, ponies tethered in a similar fashion. Alfí proudly rode among the guards surrounding them, and Signí knew how much it meant to him to be riding in the company of Dwalin and Thorin.

The night hours passed and the troupe made steady time and reached the East Bight by sunrise. They slowed their ponies and, after assessing that there was little danger, dismounted and began cooking breakfast. The idea was to spend as little time as possible in the forest. This of course took them further south and also allowed for the avoidance of Bree (something Thorin had wanted). Cleared by irresponsible logging decades ago, this clearing took out miles of forest they would otherwise have to trudge through. The good thing was there would be less spiders to deal with being this far south, but there had also been orcs spotted recently in this area.

Thorin carried a plate of bread and sausage to where Signí sat slumped against a rock. She had napped the entire ride overnight, but it was awful quality sleep. Dain’s men had planned the speediest route and were known to make good time, but there were still at least six more days of travel and she dreaded it. Every bone in her body ached.

“I want my own bed,” she said, half-smiling up at Thorin.

His eyes softened and he smirked.

“But was this not all your idea in the first place?” he teased her. He then sighed, and Signí turned her face toward his as she sensed his mood change.

“It will be different, but at least we’ll be home,” she said softly.

“Aye,” he said.

***

The rest of the way home was just as uneventful as Dain had promised. They made good time, and if there were any bandits or stray orcs along their path, Dain’s warriors must have intimidated them too much for any attacks. Signí also couldn’t help but wonder if they encountered less hostility from the fact that they appeared as Iron Hills folk, further underscoring how hated by the world former Erebor-folk seemed to be.

They arrived at dusk, just as trading for the day was ending and the last wagon from Bree had departed. Thorin hopped out quickly, intending to notify the guards to expedite the process of getting everyone settled in without much commotion, but someone had already spotted them in the distance and a crowd of dwarves had collected near the gate to welcome them home.

Dís was amongst the throng with her face in a hopeful smile. He knew what this looked like: with four caravans and having not heard any word from them while they were gone, she fully expected Bremir and everyone else to be among them. The crowd began to cheer as he approached, but he inwardly winced as he sought his sister out.

He dreaded this.

“Brother!” Dís exclaimed, engulfing him in a tight-squeezing hug. “You are back!”

As her arms let go, he searched in vain to find the right words, but they would not come.

“Everyone has returned… aye?” her voice grew into a concerned shrill as she noticed the absence of Bremir and their father.

Thorin reached for the round piece of metal that sat so heavy in his pocket and pulled it out. Dís’ eyes focused on the ring and she let out a shriek of horror, knowing full well what this meant. He tried to reach for her, comfort her, anything, but instead she took off running through the mountains.

***

“I can never forgive you,” Dís said softly with great sorrow. “All of you.”

Thorin knew she was referring to Balin, Dwalin and himself. It wasn’t their fault Bremir had died of course, but he accepted full responsibility anyway. He had let his sister down, and his primary job was to protect her.

Only a fire illumined Dís’ living room, and she sat wrapped in a blanket on the floor nearby, her legs folded beneath the rest of her body. Thorin stood a few feet away, uneasy.

“How long has he been dead? Has he even had a proper burial?” she rose, looking especially wild-eyed with the fire reflecting in her pupils. “You left for months and months with no word, no word at all! And now you come back saying he’s gone and Father is gone too! My life is destroyed!”

Her words came like a serrated edge to him. Finding no words himself, he reached a hand to his sister but she turned her back.

“Where is he buried?” she asked again.

“He was not,” he said softly.

“He was not buried?!” Dís spun around and shrieked. “You would not bury your own kin?”

He had been hesitant to tell her the details, but he could not lie to her. An unburied dwarf was a serious matter, for Dwarven culture necessitated prompt burial in case the dwarf's soul should be called upon by Mahal sooner than later. Otherwise, the dwarf's body was needed to house the deceased dwarf's soul until that calling. For this same reason, dying by fire or cremating a body was considered most degrading and problematic, as it would cause the soul's passage into the Halls of Waiting to go awry and the dwarf's soul might be lost forever.

“His body was taken,” Thorin said gently. “By bandits. Dwalin and Balin fought valiantly and with honor, but they too had the task of escaping death.”

Dís searched her brother’s eyes for more, but the disgust and horror she felt at what had likely become of her husband’s body was plain to see.

“Leave me,” she whispered darkly.

“Please- do not be alone,” Thorin replied.

“Leave me!” she shrieked, and pushed him out the door.

***

Dís’ opened her eyes to the dark room around her. It had been three weeks since the horrible news, and yet time seemed an indecipherable concept to her. She had remained wrapped in that blanket on the floor, only getting up to use the bathroom or pick at the food that had been left outside her door. She refused to go near the bedroom she’d once shared with Bremir, for it was too painful. Family had come by on several occasions to check up on her, but she couldn’t take it and had forced them to leave each time. She just wanted to be alone. It was the only thing that made sense.

She stared up at the darkened ceiling above. Her eyes were the kind of dry that comes after being doused in the salt of too many tears for too long. Her body lay motionless except to breathe, as if it had given up on propelling her forward in the world any longer. Indeed, she had given up. She couldn’t even cry anymore. 

_I feel nothing because I have nothing_ , she thought to herself. Since the tender age of thirty-six (twelve in human years), she had never once pictured her life without Bremir. The possibility of it was there on the day he’d left, but going to the Iron Hills was such a routine thing that she didn’t even think twice about a trip to the Lonely Mountain. Well, that wasn’t entirely true: of course she worried about the dangers lurking there, but no one had seen the dragon in all these years and there was even some doubt as to whether the dragon was still there or alive. She knew Dwalin and Balin and Bremir had had no plans to enter that mountain, so the risk of waking the dragon was a near impossibility. 

How naïve she was, she realized! To be worrying about the dragon and completely ignorant to the fact that someone was after her father. She thought Thorin and Signí were foolish for leaving as they did. They were right not to consult her first though, for she would have done all she could to put a stop to it. _Not that they would have listened anyway_ , she sighed.

She stood up, suddenly feeling strangely light with the buoyant energy of a dwarfling, though her countenance remained somber. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. In fact, as she looked down at the old robe she wore, she dropped the blanket from around her shoulders and realized she felt nothing… nothing at all. She had cried and cursed and drove everyone out of her apartment that she must have driven out any ability to feel anything along with them. She was cripplingly numb, as though the shock and sadness had broken her brain.

Without giving much thought to it, she gravitated toward her door and walked out into the corridor. Leaving her home for the first time in three weeks felt strange, but few dwarves were around. She knew she probably looked a wreck, but caring about such superficial things was the furthest thing from her mind. Instead, she felt as though she were floating, light and airy like a ghost along those walls, down the halls, past dark apartments and dimly lit rooms.

“Dís?” she thought she’d heard a voice say, but it was far away and didn’t make sense.

 _Bremir was my anchor_ , she thought suddenly. That must be why she felt as though she’d float away! She paused a moment to inspect her bare feet. It seemed so strange they rested on the ground! As she stood still the sadness began to creep back in, only it wasn’t the raw and painful kind. This time it only seemed to add another layer of numbness. She forced another step, and another until she finally made her way to the forge. She arrived through the uppermost corridor, and a rickety metal walkway before her led right over the main furnace. Dare she do it? _Anything to feel again_ , her innermost voice replied. 

She cautiously stepped onto the small bridge, and the heat blasted up and singed her bare feet, though it didn’t bother her as much as it should have.

 _All for naught!_ she thought to herself. Everything in her life up until now seemed to be a cruel joke. Her childhood: chaotic and filled with sorrow, her real home of Erebor: ripped from her before she even got the chance to remember living there, her grandfather and brother leaving and never coming back and now her father and Bremir… gone! Her whole life with Bremir had been the shining spot of happiness and stability. He was her great love and now that had been ripped from her life too. Nothing anyone could do or say could make it better and living like this for the rest of her life seemed impossible. She knew her situation now: she’d be forever dependent on her family, on Thorin and Signí to get by. She would help raise their dwarflings while the ones she and Bremir were supposed to have didn’t get to be born or grow up. Holding that kind of bitterness in her heart wasn’t fair to her family either and she knew it.

She took a few more steps and the heat grew in intensity. If Bremir was in the Halls of Waiting, she could join him this very moment!

She peered into the furnace. It was quite a ways down, but the heat blasted up in waves and orange flashed all around her. There were dwarves working down below, but the fiery flashing heat made it too bright to see them.

She threw a leg over the railing of the rickety bridge. Her leg was exposed for a moment and the hot metal seared against her skin, but it did little to faze her. Another wave of heat blasted up and the hem of her skirt blackened.

She threw her other leg over the side, clutching the rail now with her bare hands as she stared intently into the fire below.

“Dís!” a voice startled her.

She nearly lost her grip as she turned her head, but the air was too thick and bright around her to see where it had come from.

“Dís…” Thorin’s worried face appeared now, and she looked into his eyes for a moment before turning back to concentrate on what lay below.

“You cannot do this,” he whispered softly, pleading.

Ignoring him, she sidestepped out of his reach.

“Please…” he said again. “I cannot think I know what you feel, but I know you to be stronger than this.”

“You know me little,” she shot back, ashamed and angry. 

“Aye, but I know my sister is a Durin,” he said. This only made her flinch and sparked an acute anger within her.

“And all Durins before me have gone mad,” she said bitterly. She let the railing go and braced for the intense heat, but his strong hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her back.

“They have gone mad indeed, but they grew old and white first,” he said. “And so will you, as long as I am alive to protect my kin. Like what Bremir was doing until his last breath.”

He pulled her from the side of the bridge and carried her back to the cool, stone path of the corridor that led home. This time, the tears that had refused to come now surged like a tidal wave and she clung to his shirt like an injured dwarfling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The Dwarven period of time in getting ready for a baby's arrival, much like "nesting."
> 
> ** "Lesser worms, lesser worries," a figure of speech meaning to not worry about what you don't yet know.


	30. Recovery

Signí pulled her fur-lined hood down with one hand and looked up to the grey-white sky. What had started off as a light dusting earlier that morning had transformed into the big, fat snowflakes that promised to stay once they hit the ground. Both naked and pine trees offered the only recognizable landmarks around them as everything else was disappearing beneath a swathe of white.

“Zigrul lavamel,”* Natti whispered, and Signí smiled back in agreement. It was the first snow and it really was beautiful. 

Dís leaned on both Signí’s and Natti’s shoulders for support, and she looked around in wonder. This was the first time she’d been outside since her suicide attempt and the first time breaking _trem_ , though technically it would have been socially acceptable to do so a month ago. _Trem_ was the period of mourning following a death, in which the mourning family and friends stayed indoors and kept to themselves. The diffused winter light made Dís’ blue eyes look especially icy, while her dark hair was disheveled and starkly contrasted against the plain white robe and pallor of the skin it tumbled over. While the boots she wore were soft and supportive, she still found it difficult to walk without assistance as her feet healed. The burns she’d sustained on her feet and legs from the furnace were pretty severe, and most of her recovery for the past two months had been spent in bed. In that time, there was still no sign of Thrain at all. Distraught and helpless over her own husband’s disappearance, Mrs. Durin had thrown herself entirely into Dís’ recovery.

The three dwarrowesses came to a large rock and Dís sat down, quietly taking in her surroundings. Her white robe draped over her brown boots and snow caked along the hemline. White was the traditional color of mourning, and it seemed weirdly fitting to Signí that Dís had chosen to come out on this snowy day of all days.

Natti trudged a few steps ahead before turning around again, eyes bright.

“The rumors were true,” she said enthusiastically. “Ered Luin is a place of dreams and magic!”

Having nowhere to go and no one to stay with in the Iron Hills, Natti had come along for the ride to Ered Luin, where, to Signí’s surprise, she was reunited with her mother who happened to be Myrna! Also unbeknownst to her, Natti and Alfi had apparently taken notice of each other during the journey to Ered Luin. Alfi decided not to return with the rest of Dain’s guard and had instead signed on for a temporary transfer to work in Ered Luin, providing the reason of wanting to meet his new niece or nephew. Of course, Signí knew it wasn’t the only reason.

“But the Iron Hills gets snow too,” Signí laughed.

“It’s not like this,” Natti replied. “Everything here is… happier....”

“You mean someone makes you happier?” Signí teased, raising an eyebrow. 

Natti shyly smirked.

“I thought maybe he’d have asked me to dance last night…” she said sheepishly.

There were only two days left of _Yulemerag_ , the Dwarven winter holiday. It was twenty-nine days of feasting, drinking and dancing with holy chants of giving thanks to Mahal thrown in. The first day had been the swearing of oaths, where each male dwarf stands up to declare the promise he’ll keep for the rest of the new year. Still in the throes of grief, Dís and her mother had not attended. Thorin had been obligated to head the ceremony in his father’s absence though, and Signí had watched as he bittersweetly declared his protection over her, his family and people, while at the same time taking the role of his missing father… the father for whom that very same protection failed to cover.

“I asked Bremir first,” Dís spoke up. It was the first time she had mentioned his name in weeks. Her pale lips formed a weak, distant smile. “At a party in Swanfleet…” 

Natti’s cheeks blushed even more than the cold temperature made them.

“I- I didn’t mean to—“ she stumbled, realizing her lack of tact around Dís.

“Treasure it,” Dís said darkly. “For you know not when it will be taken from you.”

Signí rested a comforting hand on Dís’ shoulder, but Dis looked up at her.

“Heed my words as well,” she said softly. “You carry my brother’s world. Remember that.”

***

Dís quickly looked down the hall behind her and then forward again, stepping out the open doorway. This was a side entrance that few knew existed in Ered Luin.

She sighed as she pushed the wood back into the frame, but being careful to avoid pushing it in enough to hear the metal latch click. Her family watched her like hawks these days, and she simply needed to get away for a little while. She didn’t blame them for it, for even now she couldn’t fully trust herself not to do something rash. She was getting better slowly, she often told them. Well, _better_ wasn’t the right word. She’d never be better. A part of her would always be dead without him, she knew that much. She couldn’t stand the looks though! The pity in their eyes, the careful treading around her, and the way no one said his name anymore as though in doing so they might be invoking a curse.

“Bremir…” she whispered aloud, a small act of rebellion. 

She sat down on the rocky ledge before her, careful to keep her ankles from twisting too much in her boots. Probably the worst part of the healing process was this: finally getting to the point where everything didn’t hurt as much, until one overdid it and the pain came back ten times worse because things were feeling almost normal again. The snow blanketed everything as far as her eyes could see, from the crude and primitive steps that led downwards about a hundred and fifty feet to the ground below to the flat, dead lands that lay beyond. Somewhere in those were the Shire, Tharbad, Swanfleet… she suddenly thought of the barn and the late night parties she’d snuck off to with her brothers so long ago.

She hadn’t noticed him at first. He was quiet, but he sat with a group of friends that all knew Frerin and Thorin from work. She’d stayed by her brothers’ sides usually at these parties, unless Hjordis was there.

It was at the keg, where she first noticed him. Her fourth time going to one of these parties, and she was filling up a pint for herself and one for Frerin when the keg had run out. 

“It’s – easy,” he’d said. “Just roll the next one over and attach the spout – like this.” 

He’d been standing behind her in line. He seemed to regard her like he’d known who she was already and smiled. His dimpled face was enchanting, with eyes that lit up like a thousand stars. It was only when his eyes quickly darted around the room that she realized he was nervous in her presence.

“Thanks,” she’d said, and walked back to her table. The word had came out a little more curtly than she’d intended, and she looked back again at the dwarf who’d helped her.

“I told him a while ago that a sister of mine is off limits,” Thorin had said, noticing the interaction. “Unless she chooses otherwise.”

Dís playfully punched him in the arm. Frerin remained solemn, taking the pint from her.

“He’s a good lad,” Frerin said. “But he has a lot of growin’ up to do.”

“I’ve never seen him before. Is he one of your friends?” she asked her brothers.

Thorin simply snorted and took a swig of his beer.

She looked back again and this time he sat across the room with dwarves she’d recognized as her brothers’ coworkers. He glanced up and their eyes met. He smiled, and she quickly glanced back down again, a smile in return involuntarily cropping over her face. There was just something about his eyes that seemed so inexplicably familiar, like she’d stared into them a thousand times before this evening.

An icy gust of wind made her shiver and brought her back into the moment. She half-smiled. That night wasn’t the night she’d asked him to dance, of course. Her brothers had instilled such fear into Bremir that it wasn’t for another two months that they’d come in close enough proximity to have a chance to talk again.

She wrapped her shawl a little more tightly around herself and sighed. Her mother probably already noticed she was gone by now and her fingers and toes were starting get cold, but she wasn’t ready to go back just yet. She needed this.

Her thoughts veered back to that night in the barn. The only regret she had was not saying something to him sooner. Maybe she’d have had more time with him. And his fear of approaching her wasn’t without warrant. She chuckled a little. Her brothers were very protective of their little sister and they could be intimidating, to be sure. She was also a daughter of the Durin line and technically a princess, something Bremir was very aware of. By the time they actually ran into each other again and she’d asked him to dance, he’d accepted without hesitation, though he was quick to look around to see if her brothers were nearby. Dís’ eyes began to well up. These were memories she’d been afraid to visit for so long.

The first time they’d kissed was… she sighed and a tear slid down her cheek. _Magical_ , she thought. All silly social norms and nervous reservations had melted away between them, their lips meeting in a perfect tryst of mutual adoration. They were equals, two parts of a whole that had always been meant to be.

She wiped her nose and cheek with her sleeve and looked out across what she could see of Eriador. She blinked. A figure was approaching Ered Luin. Black against the white backdrop of snow, it walked slowly on foot.

Her stomach turned in anxiety. Could this be a messenger? Had her father been found? Would this be good or bad news?

She stood slowly and watched as it advanced closer. Her position afforded her the advantage of seeing this creature as it passed by, for it would have to make its way around the rock formation on which she stood in order to reach the main entrance.

Snow was starting to fall again and she squinted. The figure was nearly directly below her, and she could see it was shorter, so it was definitely not human or elf. _It must be a dwarf_ , she thought, for this was not a day on which any hobbits normally visited for trading. 

The dwarf’s gait was weary and he carried an axe and a ripped bag. His clothes were shabby. A gust of wind blew his hood down, revealing a tangle of blond hair.

Dís blinked again. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? This dwarf looked just like Bremir. It wasn’t possible!

He was now directly below her.

“Who- who walks there?” she stammered out in a voice just barely loud enough to carry down to where he was.

The dwarf stopped and looked around.

“Who goes here?” Dís said, louder and more confidently this time.

“Dís?” Bremir’s voice was unmistakable. He looked up to where she was perched.

Without hesitation, she stumbled down the crude rock stairs, ignoring the searing pain in her feet and ankles.

His arms caught her in a tight embrace and he lifted her off the ground as she wrapped her arms and legs around him. She buried her face in his hair as it tumbled down his neck, breathing in his familiar scent, a familiarity that she thought she’d never know or feel again. She pulled back and examined his face in disbelief. 

He nuzzled the side of her face and their lips found each other. He kissed her softly and she responded with an even deeper kiss, her hands making their way to his face and her thumb wiping a tear off his cheek.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her forehead resting against his.

His hands that had been holding her up off the ground now gently let her down and she winced in pain.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.

She pulled a scarred and still-healing foot out of her boot to show him, some of the wounds freshly bleeding a little again from having descended the stairs. She looked away in shame.

“Mahal!” he said in horror. “Who did this to you?”

“'Twas me,” she replied, looking down as tears overflowed from her eyes.

He studied her face, comprehending. His eyes began to well up again and he lifted her off the ground once more.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered tenderly as he carried her into the entrance of the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Magical, sparkling white!"


End file.
